Buried Alive
by smithereen
Summary: When Angel came back from hell, he didn't come back alone.
1. Buried Alive: Part One

_RATING: R, because there will be violence and some adult themes.  
SPOILERS: anything up to All Men are Beasts  
SUMMARY: Angel is back from Hell, but he didn't come back alone. I'm setting this right after All Men are Beasts...and I'm going to go off onto my own little timeline...so forget all you know about 3rd season post-All Men for the purposes of the story.  
DISCLAIMER: I'm just playing with Joss Whedon, the WB and Fox's toys. I promise not to sell them, or break them.  
THANKS: Dare and Amy for being beta-goddesses. NikitaB26 for refusing to let me procrastinate as much as I wanted to._

**Buried Alive **

**Part One**

Angel dropped to a crouch, a soft growl rumbling in his throat as he tried to figure out where he was. Trees surrounded him, crowding, leaves rustling. He tried to listen to the night, for noises in the dark. Noises meant fighting, or eating. He was hungry. The darkness was thick; it pushed against his eyelids when he closed them. He tried to keep his eyes open, but they felt heavy, as though the dark weighed them down.

Someone was coming. Someone always came. And there would be blood. Sometimes they hurt him. And sometimes he drank.

He rubbed his chin with the back of his hand, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. His skin prickled. Someone was here.

He whirled, rising up out of his crouch with a snarl. Facing the intruder, his agitation calmed. His snarl turned into a satisfied rumble, almost a purr.

Her.

Her scent filled his nostrils, sweet and pure and powerful. Her body filled his vision, golden, soft and hard all at once. He cocked his head to the side, watching her quizzically. He wanted to bury his nose in her hair, touch her, claim her as his own. But he waited. At one time she had belonged to him. He remembered every curve of her body, every tone of her voice. She was burned in his memory.

But he didn't know if she was still his. He knew there was something he had done...or she had done. But he couldn't remember.

So he waited for her to make the first move, to claim him.

"Angel," she said, her eyes bright in the moonlight. He paused, brushing the side of his head against his shoulder in agitation, his eyes darting frantically from the ground to her face to the sky.

"Buffy," he finally said, as if it were the only word he knew. It was the only word that mattered. With a flurry of movement, she was in his arms. Her hands crept around his waist as he held her. She turned her head up, and he met her lips with his, claiming her with an urgent kiss. He inhaled her scent and gently nipped her lip with his teeth. Her hands roamed over his back, tracing patterns on the bare skin. He closed his eyes, feeling as though he were frozen. Having her with him felt so good it hurt. And then he winced as she tugged his lip into her mouth and bit down on it. The blood filled both their mouths, and Angel growled against her lips, feeling his face shift as his hunger roared. He yelped as her fingernails dug into his back, viciously tearing the skin.

He tried to break her hold on him, struggling against her deceptively slim arms. But she continued to hold him, squeezing him tightly. Too tightly. His arms were trapped; he could only move them helplessly against his sides or encircle her with them. He wrapped his arms around her and began to squeeze back, rage and fear battling within him. She hurt him; he would hurt her.

They sank to the ground, both refusing to let go, each squirming against the others grip. Then Angel jerked as he felt a sharp pain at his throat and realized her teeth were buried in his flesh. He screamed once and everything was black.

* * * * * *

Buffy sat on the stone floor with her back braced against the wall. She had been sitting there a long time. Exactly how long she wasn't sure, but the feeling had gone out of her legs. She should have been patrolling, or sleeping in her bed, or hanging out with her friends at the Bronze. Hanging out with Scott. She suppressed a groan. She should have been anywhere but here. And yet she had been sitting for hours, watching him.

He lay sprawled on the floor, dressed only in a pair of dirty greenish gray pants and an old, unlaced pair of brown boots. He moved in his sleep; little jerks shook his body. Sometimes she could hear him whimper. His agitation increased. She could tell that the dream which gripped him was not a pleasant one.

She wanted to go to him, crouch down next to his body or even lie on the floor beside him, fitting her body to his. She wanted to brush her hand over his shoulders, through his hair, touch his lips. She wanted to assure herself that he was real. And it had been so long since she last held him in her arms. She wanted to wake him and to comfort him. But she continued to sit with her back against the wall and her arms tightly crossed over her chest. She continued to watch him, weariness clutching at her but never drawing her into sleep.

She bit her lip as his whole body convulsed. A scream scraped its way out of his throat, raw and pained. She winced. He opened his eyes, panting instinctively in a physical reaction to his terror, though he did not need the breath. He swallowed hard, and his eyes darted around the room. In fear, confusion, she wasn't sure which, perhaps a little of both. They settled on her.

She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. She was trapped in his gaze, in the dark brown irises, in the past, in the fear and confusion. She felt her breath catch and realized suddenly that as her panic increased, his had stopped. He seemed to find some comfort in looking at her, and she was glad. She owed him that much.

"Angel," she said, when the silence between them was too much for her. His unbroken stare, filled with both fear of her and love for her at once, scared her with its intensity. It was a stare that spoke of his devotion to her despite her betrayal of him. She had saved the world, but she thought of it only as betrayal. He scared her. Because he meant remembering the past when she had started to let it go. He meant that the safe life she had been trying to live, with a sweet boyfriend and an untouched heart, would never be enough. He meant that already she felt herself almost consumed by the need she had always felt for him, the love she could never kill.

She didn't know how it was possible, how he could be here in front of her. When you sent a person to hell they usually stayed there. But he hadn't. He had come back. And she was so glad to see him, it made her want to scream or vomit and retch until the past was purged from her body. And she was so disrupted by his presence that she wanted him to leave. She had dealt with the pain of losing him, barely. She had shut him out, shut the pain out. But the pain of having him back was something she had never expected. Having him back only meant that she might have to do it all again. If she let herself love him, only to lose him again, she didn't think she would be able to stand it this time. Not again.

He sat up, crouching. His head was bowed, and the backs of his hands swiped at his chin, his ear. Still watching her. She wondered what he was thinking.

"Angel, can you understand me?" she asked quietly. She didn't know why he was the way he was. He was like an animal. Not like the intelligent, sensitive, strong man he used to be. And yet, he was like that man. Underneath.

Or maybe she was fooling herself. Maybe they were false hopes that would only lead to the ruin of everyone she loved. Maybe she was clinging to this stupid hope, when the truth was her Angel was gone forever. Maybe she should admit to herself that she would never get him back, and that the longer she deluded herself, the more likely it was that he would run off and kill one of her friends.

She looked away from him, down at her hands, and saw that she had broken the skin of her right palm with her fingernails. It was bleeding just enough to smear her hands with red.

She heard movement. He was crawling toward her, hunger in his eyes. A low growl built in his throat, but his face remained human. Buffy forced herself to sit still. Of course he was hungry. She hadn't thought to bring him any blood. She ordered herself to stop at the butcher's before she came by the next time. And she suddenly knew there would be a next time and a next, and as many times as it took for him to remember who he was.

She hesitated for a moment over what to do. Run to the butcher's now? Chain him up again? He had crawled to her side and was now squatting in front of her. Waiting. Almost against her own will, she extended her bloody hand to him. He sniffed at it, then gently licked it with a soft stroke of his tongue. She shivered, closing her eyes against the longing for his touch and the fear that coursed through her when she heard his growls. His tongue lapped at her hand again, drawing a wet trail from her finger tips to her wrist. After two more licks, he stopped. She opened her eyes.

The blood was gone, leaving only four semicircular marks which were already healing. And he was squatting on his heels. Still waiting.

For what? she wondered. And then it registered that she had not been bitten. She stretched out her hand and cautiously touched the side of his face, hovering near trust. She ran her fingertips over the familiar cheekbones and jawline. He moved his head, brushing his face against her hand like a cat. He was purring, sort of, in a contented growl sort of way. She smiled a little at the thought of a giant hairless kitten with fangs.

He nuzzled at her hand again and inched closer to her. She kept from withdrawing her hand, and even moved forward a little herself. His hand snaked out, and his fingers ran over her forehead, her lips, her cheeks. She closed her eyes, and his touch ran lightly over her eyelids. And then his fingers were in her hair, twining. She felt him move closer, but kept her eyes closed. It was easier to just feel. Just this once. She moved her hand from his face and blindly reached for him. Her fingers came in contact with his shoulder, and she ran her hand over his chest and around his back. He shuddered, and then his face was in her hair, and his hands glided over her arms.

She brought her other arm up and held him, just enjoying the feel of him next to her. His shoulder was wet where she rested her head. She was crying. The taste of brine was on her lips, on his shoulder. She was crying, and it didn't even hurt to do it. Not when she was holding on to him, not when she had him in her arms so he couldn't get away. His arms encircled her, and she curled herself within them.

She wanted to look at him. But she didn't want to open her eyes. If she did, she was afraid she might find it wasn't real. Or maybe she was afraid that it was.


	2. Buried Alive: Part Two

**Buried Alive**

**Part Two**

Buffy felt Angel jerk in her arms, then a rumble tore through him as he began to growl, deep and low in his throat. She opened her eyes, searching his face for some clue which would explain the sudden movement. He turned his head down, then left and right in agitation, and released her from his arms. He rested in a crouch on the balls of his feet, his hands curled into loose fists near his face, then cocked his head as if he were listening to something. The constant low pitched growling turned into a short snarl, and Buffy watched in surprise as the familiar vampiric ridges appeared on Angel's face.

Buffy sat for a moment without moving. He rose to his feet, his muscles tensed. His head whipped from side to side, and his fangs remained constantly bared. She urged herself to do something and rose slowly to her feet. Extending her hand, she began to make soft, soothing noises in the faint hope that they would calm him. She wasn't sure what was going on, but Angel was too close to the edge for comfort.

"Angel," she said softly. "Shhh. It's okay." He backed away from her outstretched fingers uncertainly, and clasped his head with one hand. His eyes were half shut. He whined in pain, then shook his head, growling louder than before.

He began to move around the room, half crouching, half running. Buffy followed him, trying to decide what to do. The places on his wrists which had been rubbed raw by the manacles had almost completely healed, but she hesitated to chain him again. He had seemed like he was getting better just a few minutes ago. But now...

His eyes darted frantically, and he whined again. Making a sudden decision, Buffy flung herself at him, bearing them both to the ground. She landed on top of him with a grunt and tried to immobilize his hands. He squirmed under her, pushing at her desperately with his hands. He briefly managed to throw her off his body, but she tripped him as he tried to rise to his feet. She punched him in the face, and he grabbed at her, trying to roll them both over.

She moved her body to straddle him and forced his struggling hands up above his head.

He pushed against the manacles her hands formed over his wrists. She realized she wouldn't be able to hold him much longer and smashed downward with her head. Her forehead collided with his nose and eye sockets. Pain surged through her skull, but he was out cold, his nose oozing blood.

She shook off the slight wave of dizziness that washed over her and stood up.

"Sorry," she whispered to Angel's prone body. Then she grabbed his hands, pulled him over to the wall and chained him up. He lay on the floor, peaceful in unconsciousness though his arms were raised by the chains and his lips were smeared with the blood dripping from his nose.

Buffy rubbed her hands over the material of her skirt. She blinked away the tears that tried to prick up in her eyes. Seeing him like that, blood running slightly from his nose, chains on his wrists, hurt her. It demeaned him, and she hated to be the one to do it.

She reminded herself that it was better this way. Safer. For him and for everybody. Everybody. She shuddered, thinking of Giles and the others. How was she going to tell them? After what Angelus had done, they would have had trouble welcoming Angel back even if he had been...normal. But this way... Buffy bit her lip thoughtfully. She supposed she could wait until he started to get better. If he started to get better. She suppressed that thought. Of course he would get better. He had remembered her name, hadn't he? He wanted to get well. Hadn't he just held her in his arms so gently?

But he had also freaked out on her. He acted like something was threatening him. Was it her he was afraid of? Did he remember what she had done to him?

She knelt next to his body and gently wiped away the blood beneath his nose with the edge of her sleeve. Once she had cleaned him up a little, she traced the tips of her fingers over his cheekbones. He didn't move. She touched the curve of his lips, remembering their taste. And then she brushed his lips lightly with her own. After a moment, she rose to her feet.

"Damn it," she muttered to herself. "Why do things always have to be so complicated?" She realized with a start that it would be morning soon, and she had school to go to.

She retrieved her bag and slung it over her shoulder, heading toward the door. She hesitated when she heard someone pass behind her. Had she heard it or felt it? She wasn't sure. She turned around warily. There was a seven foot tall man walking toward Angel, who was utterly helpless. He was still chained to the wall, still unconscious.

Buffy's hands balled into fists, and she took a fighting stance. But the guy kept moving toward Angel, completely ignoring the blonde Slayer behind him. She'd have to get his attention, draw him away from Angel.

"Hey, big ugly guy!" she yelled. He didn't seem to hear her. "Well, I'll admit it wasn't a very witty insult, but I'm tired," she pouted. "You could at least pretend to be offended."

Deciding the verbal barbs were not working, Buffy prepared herself to upgrade to a physical confrontation. In the few seconds it took Buffy to catch up to him, she absorbed some of the physical details about her opponent. He was muscular, but not excessively so. His body was encased in leather: a black leather vest, leather pants, and knee high leather boots. Even the long lock of hair streaming from the middle of his shaved head to his waist was held back with a leather clasp. Tattoos twined up and down his arms. Buffy didn't have the time to study them, but they looked like blue snakes or vines curling around his biceps and forearms.

When she got close enough, Buffy launched herself at him and landed a side kick to his kidneys. He barely flinched. He didn't even turn around.

"Uh oh," Buffy murmured. She pulled a stake out of her pocket and tried again. The guy didn't react at all to the sound of her running up to him. She plunged the stake into his back. That got his attention. He turned slowly and faced the Slayer, the stake still protruding out of his back. It didn't seem to bother him too much.

Buffy remained in her fighting stance, but couldn't suppress a small gasp. His face was completely covered by tattoos like the ones on his arms, yet Buffy barely noticed. Her gaze was drawn to his eyes. They were completely white. No iris, no pupil, just an almond shaped gleaming whiteness. Almost like he was blind. But the way he was standing there, it seemed as if he were looking at her.

Buffy shivered. She didn't like this at all. He gave off weird vibes, dead vibes. Buffy waited for him to attack, but he just stood there.

Finally he spoke in a deep, rumbling voice. "I've only come for him. I have no quarrel with you." He turned his white gaze on Angel's prone body, and took a step forward.

"You can't have him," Buffy answered, trying to sound authoritative.

"I must take him back. I don't need to hurt you."

"Look, guy," Buffy said. "I don't know where you want to take him. But he just got returned to me, and I'm not letting him go again." She watched as Angel stirred, his chains jingling together with the movement. His eyes snapped open and immediately he was on his feet. He strained at the chains, snapping and growling.

"You cannot stop me," the man said. He reached Angel and the chain binding the vampire's left arm. Angel attempted to bite him, then kicked out with his legs. The man yanked on the chain, and the links snapped easily. Angel immediately flung himself at the tattooed man. He snarled, scratching at those white eyes with his free hand. The man pulled back, then swatted at the vampire, the heel of his hand making solid contact with the vampire's chin. Angel shook his head, dazed, but continued to pull at the chain holding his right arm.

Buffy attacked again, although she was getting the feeling that this was utterly pointless. The guy wasn't even bleeding where the stake had gone in. Still, she was determined to do anything she could to keep Angel safe. She pelted the guy with a flurry of blows to his back and kidneys. It was like hitting a wall. Then Buffy tucked her leg in front of his foot and twisted the appendage. The man fell to one knee next to the vampire, who tried to tear at the man's throat with his teeth. He punched Angel with one fist and flung his elbow backwards into Buffy's stomach.

She doubled over, gasping, but managed to grab the long lock of hair hanging down his back. She pulled as hard as she could. The man fell backwards, grasping at her arm. Gratified to finally be getting a reaction, she pulled the hair again. Some of the long strands came off in her hands.

"You should not interfere, mortal," the man said, executing a backwards somersault. His huge frame rolled over Buffy, and she let go of the hair as she was crushed underneath him. She reached weakly for the man's leg as he rolled off her, but when she tried to grasp it, it wasn't there. She studied the room. He was gone; he had just disappeared.

She sat up carefully, testing her limbs. She didn't think anything was broken. She glanced over at Angel, who was still straining against the chain which held one of his arms. His lips were pulled back, revealing his fangs, as he continued to snarl. She couldn't just leave him there. If that thing could appear and disappear at will, then there was no way he would be safe alone in the mansion. Especially not chained to the wall so he couldn't defend himself. But if she unchained him, he might do something like run out into the sunlight.

She had to protect him. But she had no idea how.

First she would have to figure out what the thing they had been fighting was. There was really only one way to find out, although she was not looking forward to the confrontation which would almost surely occur once the others were told Angel was back. It was too soon to tell them, but she didn't think she had a choice at this point. Buffy studied Angel as he struggled with the chains, his yellow eyes glittering, and shook her head. This was not going to be fun. But they would just have to deal with it. She wasn't going to let anything take Angel from her this time.


	3. Buried Alive: Part Three

**Buried Alive**

**Part Three **

Angel's feet pounded against the ground beneath him. It moved and shifted under his feet like loose sand, throwing him off balance as he ran. He slipped and fell so many times he lost count. But each time he fell, he staggered to his feet again; and his legs continued to churn. The ground burnt like fire against the soles of his feet, but Angel did not mind the pain.

The ground was flat, stretching endlessly in all directions without variation. The sky was light grey and empty of any sun or moon. The heat seared him constantly and he wondered vaguely if he ran along the surface of the sun. There were no trees or dwellings or bushes or animals for as far as his eyes could see. There was no prey, nothing to eat, no blood to quench the thirst which grew in him until he thought he would tear into his own flesh. There was only one thing that marred the perfectly straight line of the horizon.

Her.

Not food. Despite his hunger, he did not seek her blood. She could never be his prey.

He could just barely see her form outlined against the pale grey of the skyline. It was enough to force him onward despite the pain. Almost enough to erase the pain completely.

His mate. He had thought she wasn't real at first. She shimmered behind the heat rising from the ground. But sometimes he could just barely catch her scent drifting toward him on an acrid gust of wind. Sometimes she was just a few steps away from him. Almost close enough to touch. Other times she was so far away he could barely feel a trace of her. Sometimes he could see her lips pull back into a smile. And his legs kept moving. His whole body was burning, but his legs kept moving.

A whine escaped the back of his throat, and the wind gusted around him, picking up the sound and throwing it in his face with the black grains of sand it lifted to his eyes. Something was very wrong. He should have reached her by now. He should have been burying his face in the curve of her neck. He should have been feeling her fingers on his face. He had been running for years, and she was still so far away.

Angel growled in frustration, but he kept moving. Sometimes on four legs, sometimes on two. Always with an urgency he could not deny.

And eventually he found he could not explain it. He could not remember why he ran toward her. Only that he must. He could not remember how he knew her, or why he loved her. Only that he did. He could not remember his name. All he remembered was hers. Buffy. It sang through him with every stumbling step he took.

After a while he wished he could forget it like all the rest. He wanted to forget her. He was tired of running. All he wanted was to sleep.

But he could not forget. He could never forget her.

He ran.

* * * * * * *

Buffy entered the mansion quietly. She had run as fast as she could down Crawford Street to the pay phone at the end of the hill. She hadn't wanted to leave Angel alone at all, but she had to get the others to the mansion and there was no phone in the building. At least no working phone.

Giles had been asleep when she called. His befuddled voice had asked her if she had any idea what time it was. But the urgency with which she answered soon caused Giles to forget that it was five in the morning. She had been cryptic, but he promised to follow her instruction and bring Willow and Xander to meet her at the mansion as soon as possible. She had decided to leave Cordelia and Oz out of it for now. It would be hard enough telling the people she was closest to.

Then Buffy ran back up the hill, her heart beating double time as she tried to drive away the thought that she would open the door and find Angel gone. A shiver of relief shot through her when she saw him slumped against the wall...asleep or unconscious. His legs twitched in response to the dream which clutched him, and she flinched as a growl rumbled to her ears.

She resisted the urge to run to his side and shake him awake, instead cautiously approaching the vampire.

She got within a few feet of him before Angel's eyes popped open. He immediately pulled at the chain on his wrist, and fell into a crouch. He growled continuously, low and deep in his throat, then lunged suddenly toward her. The chain cracked sharply as it went from lax to taut, and Buffy's fists flew up to guard against the charging vampire. Then the chain snapped back, and Angel was jerked violently to the floor. His eyes met hers and for a few seconds there was no recognition in them.

Then there was a flicker of realization and some of the blank, unthinking animal instinct receded. Buffy watched him, relieved to see something reachable in him. He had just been disoriented when he woke up. That's why he hadn't recognized her. She was sure of it, and he knew her now. She slowly lowered her fists, mentally urging herself to believe her reasoning. He was going to be fine. That blank fury had only lasted a second.

The growling lessened in volume, then stopped altogether. Angel cocked his head and pulled himself back into a crouch, rubbing distractedly at his cheekbone with the back of his hand. He looked away to the window, then the ceiling, but his eyes always returned to Buffy. He inched forward, a little like a crab on his bent legs. When she didn't back away, he continued to move forward until the chain stopped him. He didn't try to pull on it, just sat back on his heels, waiting.

She grimaced when a low whine escaped his closed mouth. She wanted to order him to speak. She wanted to tell him she didn't know how to interpret the sounds he was making, the way he was acting. Was he hungry? Was it the chain? Did he just want to be near her the way she wanted to be near him? She wanted to yell at him, and let him yell at her, and cry in his arms.

Instead she stood still, watching him watch her, trying to accept the silent gaze he skewered her with, trying to figure out if that gaze meant he wanted to eat her or love her.

The door creaked open, and Angel began to pull against his chain again. Unable to free himself, he slunk back against the wall and shivered, crouching in the shadows. Buffy frowned at his actions, so different from the way he had acted when the big guy had come in. She turned and saw Giles hurry inside with Xander and Willow close behind.

"Buffy, what's all this about?" Giles asked, approaching his Slayer. He looked a bit more rumpled than usual, but other than the minor dishevelment, Buffy could barely tell he had been rudely awakened fifteen minutes earlier. She felt a rush of affection for this man who was always prepared to help her despite the pain or inconvenience, despite the fact that she had left them all without even a good-bye. Dragging herself out of her reverie, she reminded herself that he had asked her a question and opened her mouth to explain.

But he stopped abruptly, his eyes widening in shock, and Buffy knew he had spotted Angel. Xander bumped into his back and muttered something about brake lights. Then he too fell silent as he and Willow noticed the vampire crouched against the wall.

"Angel's back," she said, stating the obvious for lack of anything better to say. She waited for Giles to answer, but he seemed to be having trouble forming a coherent thought. Xander on the other hand, found the words all too easily.

"What's he doing here?" the boy snapped. "How did he get here?" Angel snarled in reaction to Xander's raised voice and harsh tone. The vampire shifted uneasily, but stayed in the shadows, hunching in over his knees restlessly and baring his teeth.

"I don't know," Buffy answered, giving Angel a reproachful look which she hoped would by some miracle keep him under control. "I sent him to Hell. But somehow he got out."

"Send him back," Xander ordered petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No," Buffy answered simply. "Even if I knew how to, I wouldn't."

"Buffy, he's a killer," the boy insisted. Willow swallowed nervously, glancing from one of her friends to the other. They had been fighting a lot lately. Tempers were already sensitive, and now this... She wanted to support Buffy, but looking at Angel in the corner, she couldn't make herself speak.

"He's not anymore," Buffy answered, her voice dangerously quiet. "He has his soul." She turned to Willow. "Willow's spell worked, remember? He had his soul when I stabbed him."

"Then why is he chained up?" Xander asked.

"Because," Buffy hesitated. "Something happened to him in Hell."

"This is why you questioned me about what would happen if he came back," Giles said. "You told me it was a dream." His voice was flat and hard. Buffy nodded, shamefaced.

"I didn't want to tell you guys until he got a little better," she tried to explain. "Look I know it's hard enough for you guys to accept him at all. I didn't want you to see him like this."

"Buffy," Willow offered cautiously. "He really doesn't seem like your Angel." She refused to meet her friend's eyes, and hurriedly continued. "I mean, look at him. He's like an animal." Buffy looked. He bared his teeth at the others. And moved a little closer, hunching his back, pushing his head forward.

"You can't expect us to just be happy about this," Xander interjected. "He's obviously dangerous. You've admitted that much by chaining him up."

"I admit he's not himself," Buffy agreed, feeling her anger creep into her voice. "But that's not his fault, and I'm not going to let you punish him for it. He's getting better. He knows who I am."

"How do you even know?" Xander said, pointing at the vampire. Angel's teeth gleamed dully in the wan light, and low rumbles slipped past them. He moved restlessly, jingling his chain as he took another step toward them. "He can't even speak, can he?"

"He said my name," Buffy answered defensively.

"He's like a rabid dog," Xander said coldly. "He needs to be put to sleep before he hurts someone."

"He's not a dog, Xander. He's a person for God's sake." Buffy turned to Giles for help. "Giles, you said yourself there are two kinds of monsters. Angel's the kind that can get better. He wants to. I know it."

"I did say that," Giles affirmed uncomfortably. "But I've seen no evidence as of yet which would prove that Angel has any possibility of recovery. He is a danger, Buffy."

"Are you telling me I should kill him?" Buffy asked. She felt flushed, feverish, as she grew more desperate in the face of her friends' inability to support her. She glanced again at Angel. He had moved closer by another few steps, and his growling had grown a bit louder. It rumbled from him in spurts, separated by only a few seconds of silence. She took a deep breath, telling herself to stay calm. The last thing she wanted to do was agitate him.

"Not exactly," Giles said cautiously.

"Yes," Xander snapped at the same time.

"How dare you?" Buffy retorted. Her fists clenched involuntarily, and she took a step toward the boy, her thoughts of staying peaceful zipping from her mind to be replaced by anger. Angel snarled suddenly, snapping at the air in front of him.

"I'll tell you how I dare," Xander answered, his voice rising. "I dare because I haven't forgotten what he did to Miss Calendar. Unlike you, I haven't forgotten the fact that Angel is a cold-blooded killer. I haven't forgotten that we lived in fear for months while he stalked us and tortured us for fun. And I haven't forgotten the way he smiled when he put you in the hospital. I can never forget that. He's a monster, and he deserves to die."

"Shut up, Xander," Buffy snapped. "You've hated Angel from the very beginning. And I'll be damned if I let you cover your personal vendetta with excuses. You self-righteous...pompous...how can you stand there and act as if you're the only one who remembers what Angel has done? You think there's one second when I forget the people he killed? How can you possibly suggest that you're the only one here who remembers Miss Calendar?" She turned to Giles, prepared to ask him to set Xander straight. The look in his eyes stopped her. "That wasn't really Angel," she finished more quietly.

"I'm not saying we should kill Angel," Willow said hesitantly. "But you can't blame us for not being able to easily get past what happened last year...or for being afraid. The things he did were horrible, and we don't know what he's capable of when he's like..well like..." She motioned toward Angel, then suddenly dropped her hand and looked away from him when she felt his eyes boring into her. "Why is he looking at me like that?"

"All I know is that I'M the one who sent him to Hell," Buffy answered. "I'm the one who made him like this." Angel looked up when she focused her attention on him, answering her with a short snarl. "I did that to him, and I am going to fix it. He CAN get better. He knows me. He saved me. When Pete attacked me, Angel was the one who killed him."

"Buffy, your judgment when it comes to Angel..." Giles began.

"Let me put it this way," Buffy interrupted, exasperated. "No one's going to hurt him. If any of you want to try, you have to go through me." The other three stared at her. She clenched her jaw, knowing she hadn't scored any popularity points with the ultimatum. But dammit, it wasn't like they had time to sit and debate it.

"You said you had not planned to tell us so soon," Giles finally said after an uncomfortable pause filled only with the sound of Angel's agitation. Buffy looked at her Watcher in relief, by breaking the silence he stated his tacit acceptance of her decision. "What caused you to change your mind?"

"I need your help," Buffy answered. "He needs your help." She glared at Xander, stopping the retort she knew he was on the verge of muttering. "This huge guy came after him. And when I say huge I mean it. He was at least seven feet tall, covered in tattoos. He could appear and disappear whenever he wanted. And his eyes..." she shuddered. "They were completely white." She looked at Giles. "I don't know how to stop him. Do you have any clue what he was?"

"Unfortunately, I do," the Watcher answered.

"Well?" Buffy prodded.

"If I'm correct, you've encountered what is called a BloodHound."

"Isn't that a dog?" Buffy asked skeptically.

"It's also a being from Hell," Giles explained. "They serve one function. To find and return any souls who escape the Netherworld."

"So this happens a lot?" Willow asked, raising her eyebrows.

"It is...unusual, but not unprecedented," Giles answered. "I'll have to go to my books for the details, and confirmation; but I am fairly certain this is what we're dealing with." Buffy smiled a little in relief when Giles used the word we. Until then she hadn't been sure they would do much to help Angel, despite her threats.

"I don't mean to be the nerd," Willow said suddenly. "But it's almost six. School's going to be starting soon."

"I can't leave him here alone," Buffy said, shaking her head. "There's no telling when that thing, the BloodHound or whatever, will come back."

"Indeed," Giles said, pursing his lips. "We'll have to come up with some sort of schedule or plan for guarding him."

"Until we figure it out, I'll stay with him," Buffy offered. "It's not like I would be able to stay awake at school today anyway."

"Very well then. You will stay here for now. And I will begin the research," Giles said. "We'll meet you back here after school."

"I'll tell your mom where you are," Willow offered. "She can call the school to tell them you're sick or something."

"Can we not mention Angel to her yet?" Buffy asked. "Just say it's Slayer business."

"I guess..." Willow said doubtfully.

"It's just that the last time she saw him he didn't have his soul. And she never really understood the whole situation. And I don't want her to..."

"As much as I dislike lying to your mother, I understand your reasoning," Giles interrupted. "We'll wait to tell her."

"One other thing," Buffy said hesitantly. "Could someone get some blood from the butcher or something." She continued hurriedly to cover her discomfort in reminding them of what Angel was. "Before school or on the lunch break. I didn't think of it before, but he's really hungry. I'd go myself, but..." Xander rolled his eyes in disgust, and Willow gave him a dirty look.

"One of us will do it," Giles agreed. "It's a good idea for us to check in on you anyway."

"Okay. Thank you," Buffy answered softly. "I'll see you guys later then," she continued. Giles and Willow nodded, but Xander only stood with his arms crossed over his chest. She raised her eyebrows at him, and he abruptly turned his back and walked out.

"He'll come around," Willow said softly. "It's just...this is a bit much."

"I know," Buffy answered. "And I can't say thank you enough for the help." Willow's lips curved into a small smile and she ducked outside after Xander. "Giles," Buffy said softly. "Please find something on this BloodHound. He didn't even bleed when I staked him."

"I will, as always, do my best, Buffy."

"I know," Buffy answered. "And I know if you hadn't agreed to help, they wouldn't have either."

"I am not thrilled with the idea of helping him," Giles said honestly. "But I am willing to give him a chance to show some sign of recovery." He hesitated. "You did the right thing in telling us." She smiled at him, blinking away the tears that pricked in her eyes.

"I do appreciate everything, Giles. Not just this." He smiled at her, bobbing his head in acknowledgment. Then he cleared his throat and hurried out after the others.

Buffy turned away from the door to face Angel and sank down cross legged on the floor. It had gone better than she had expected, even with Xander's refusal to accept her decisions. She had known he would be the hardest to convince, although it was Giles she felt worst about dragging into this. Giles had suffered the most at Angel's hand, but he was still willing to help the vampire because she wanted him to. She promised herself she would make it up to him somehow. She closed her eyes for a moment and had trouble pulling them open again. Sleep sounded like an amazing, unreachable heaven to her right then.

She raised her eyes to the vampire hunched in on himself a few feet away. He studied the ground, snuffling and growling softly to himself. He scratched at his neck in irritation, then bared his teeth to the floor. She had thought she would never see him again, yet there he was, so close she could take a few steps and stretch out her hand to touch him. And yet, she couldn't reach him. Just a few feet away and it might as well have been miles. It was almost worse to have him there, than to not have him at all. It was like having a hint of what she wanted more than anything, but being unable to get more than a taste. So close but still too far away to grasp. She knew her Angel was in there somewhere. She could only hope his will to regain himself was strong enough to bring him back to her.


	4. Buried Alive: Part Four

**Buried Alive**

**Part Four**

As Buffy sat tiredly, her back slumped and her head drooping with exhaustion, Angel inched forward. She looked up when she heard his chain rattling against the stone floor. He was moving slowly, smoothly, as he crawled toward her, putting weight on the balls of his feet and the knuckles of his hands. He reached the end of the chain and stopped.

There was that look again. The look she couldn't quite figure out. But she was sure of one thing. It was filled with naked longing, longing which echoed the emotions in her own heart and pulled her to her feet. She stepped toward him, her arm outstretched, her fingertips yearning for contact. She wanted to be near him, hold him, touch him in any way she could. It seemed as if he could only be real if she touched him, assured herself of the solid comforting bulk of his nearness. He watched her with dark eyes that hid a mind she no longer knew, his chain pulled tight because his body strained to reach her.

She realized with a start what she was doing and drew back, spinning to face away from him. Her body vibrated with denied need for him, for contact. She reminded herself that he was changed. As if the low whine she heard him utter was not reminder enough. She began to pace, her strides quick and distracted. The restless movement served the dual purposes of keeping her awake, and allowing her to avoid meeting his gaze with eyes she knew echoed his longing. She could feel him following her every move like a tickling sensation between her shoulder blades. Uncomfortably, she shrugged. She felt a whimper build in the back of her throat and began to wonder if he was rubbing off on her. And if he could rub off on her, could she do the same for him? If she spoke would he begin to relearn the words he had lost?

"Angel," she whispered, still facing away from him. The chain jingled softly as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other and moved his hands nervously in response to the name. "Angel," she said more strongly, savoring the taste of the name in her mouth. A soft hum escaped his throat, and Buffy fought the temptation to turn around.

"I'm sorry," she blurted. "I know you probably don't understand me." She hesitated. "So it's probably a cop-out to say this stuff I'm going to say now. But I guess it's better than not saying it at all." She bit her lower lip nervously, then braced herself and turned to face the vampire.

Immediately he captured her with his eyes. For a moment she forgot what she had been saying; she wasn't sure how long the moment lasted. And then her voice returned to her, and she pulled in a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

She began to speak, her words tumbling from her lips. "I'm sorry I chose saving the world over you." She frowned thoughtfully. "That sounds stupid or sarcastic. But it's not. It doesn't really sound right to say one person could be equal to the fate of the world. But that's what you are to me. The world." She stumbled over the words, then began again. "I've killed you three times, Angel. When you lost your soul. When I stabbed you. And when I made you into this animal. It's all my fault." She brushed impatiently at the tears beginning to spill out of her eyes. "I can't ever find the words to explain how much I wish I could take away the pain I've caused you. And I hope you understood a little of that at least."

She shuddered to a stop. This was ridiculous. She forced herself to really look at him. He wasn't even a man anymore. He couldn't speak, and he had to be chained up to keep him from hurting someone. He didn't even stand like a man. He was broken. He was hurt deep inside. Not physically, but somewhere deep in his soul he had been beaten and kicked until he was broken. She knew that he was damaged, possibly irreversibly.

And it didn't matter. The knowledge shocked through her.

"I love you," she whispered. Her mouth fell open as she realized she had said the words out loud. Stupid, stupid, her mind muttered. But the words were true. Broken as he was, she loved him. Unable to speak. Not human. It didn't matter. She loved him no less than she had the first time she had said those words to him. *I love you, but I don't know if I trust you.* She loved him even more than she had then. And now she trusted him. Despite the things his demon had done, despite the pain and betrayal which surrounded them and filled their past. She trusted him more than she trusted herself or anyone else in the world. He was not her Angel. She knew that. But she also knew he would never hurt her. And it didn't matter that he was changed, because he had once been her Angel, and he would be again. She knew he would because she loved him so completely it made her soul shudder with something so deep rooted in her she couldn't even fully comprehend it.

Her eyes dropped to the floor, her face red. She felt foolish for trying to speak to him. He didn't understand her. Her words meant nothing to him.

"I wish you could just say something," she muttered. "I wish I knew what you're thinking..."

"Buffy," he said, his voice rough and low, unused to forming words. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. She stared for a moment, and then she began to cry silent tears which streamed down her cheeks. Her body tensed, her muscles taut with the tension of keeping herself from running to him. She stood between him and the rational part of her brain which insisted that she should distance herself from who he had become, from who he had been and ever would be. When she felt his hand on her back, she was suddenly aware that she had hurled herself into his arms. She hadn't made the decision consciously. But once she was in his arms, she knew she could not pull away.

They had fallen over, his body cushioning her from the hard floor. She lay on top of him, her body pressed close to his. She felt his skin under her hands, slick with sweat, grainy with dirt; and it was the most beautiful thing she had ever felt. She rested her cheek against his chest, skin meeting skin, salty with tears and sweat, touching. "Slayer," he whispered into her ear, and she cried harder. She couldn't have explained her tears. Maybe they were tears of joy, or relief, or fear. She didn't care. Nothing mattered but his skin, and his voice, speaking words for her.

He pushed his head against hers, rubbing his cheek along the top of her head, shifting the golden strands of hair. The sounds he uttered were no longer words. He growled softly as his arms tightened around her, and his hands gently roamed her back, tracing her spine. She reached up to tangle her hands in his hair, guiding his head until his nose was only inches from hers. His eyes were so close, and so dark. She stared at him, feeling his touch and his gaze burn through her, wondering if her gaze burned him. She recognized her own hunger in his eyes, and her lips met his. Crushing together at first, urgent, desperate and hungry. Devouring. His teeth nipped at her lips, not quite hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to claim her. Her fingernails scored his chest, leaving red trails where they scraped the flesh, marking him as his teeth marked her.

And then their kisses became more gentle, as if they realized that they had time to share, to savor the moments. As if they knew that this time they would not be torn apart. Their lips met for a long moment, their bodies pressed together, their tongues touching. Every part of them strained for closeness. And then their lips parted. Buffy shifted slightly in Angel's arms and pressed her forehead against his. They lay still. Words were unnecessary. Kissing was unnecessary. The closeness was enough.

Buffy felt the metal of Angel's manacle catch on her shirt. It scraped her skin, reminding her of the fact that things were not fixed just because they had kissed. Everything had not magically become perfect when he had wrapped her in his grasp. He was still something she could not control. He was still something she could not understand. She sighed, shifting again so that her head no longer rested against his. A soft rumble of protest escaped his throat, the wordless sound reminding her that he was not human. She hesitated. She couldn't unchain him. She couldn't pretend that he wasn't dangerous. But she knew with utter certainty that she was safe with him. He would not hurt her. It was as sure as the fact that the sun would eventually set that night.

She idly traced the curve of his collarbone, studying the movement of her fingers while she thought. No, things had not magically solved themselves. But here in his arms it was as close to perfect as she was likely to get. Being with him, feeling him with her rather than just seeing him, was something she wasn't willing to give up.

Buffy moved cautiously, settling herself next to Angel on the floor. He adjusted his grip on her, but did not loosen it. She nestled her head against his chest and smiled to herself. She would stay here until she had to leave his embrace. The problems would be there when she left his arms. But right now, they didn't matter.

He lay on his side, his body bent around hers. He rested his head against her hair, inhaling her scent. Once he realized she was not planning to leave his arms, he loosened his grip. One arm remained wrapped around her body and the other stroked her skin. His fingertips ran over her arm, her neck, her waist, her hair, her hand, her waist again. She closed her eyes, allowing him to hold her, to touch her. She smiled again and whispered his name.

As she fell asleep she thought she heard him speak one more word.

"Mine."


	5. Buried Alive: Part Five

**Buried Alive**

**Part Five **

Angel lay on the ground in the middle of the woods, the dirt beneath him hard against his back. There were some leaves piled on the ground, but they did little to cushion his body. He was underneath a group of bushes, their short leafy branches making a spiky canopy above him. He could see the stars through the branches. Spots of light in the vast darkness. He felt a surge of fear, an uneasiness which would not dissipate. Slowly he realized that something was wrong. The confusion of night noises which should have filled the forest were absent. The woods were completely silent.

He felt a weight against his chest and looked down. Time seemed slower than normal; his body moved sluggishly. A small golden head rested against his chest. He inhaled deeply, and her scent clung to his nostrils. He smiled.

Buffy.

He tightened his grip, realizing for the first time as he did so that his arms encircled her slim frame. She was so small in his grasp. She looked fragile. But he knew she was strong, stronger than anything he had seen before. One of her hands lay on his stomach, lax, slightly curled in on itself.

She was so still. Like a lump of flesh, drained. He shook the thought away. It was just the silence that made his stomach turn in sudden dread.

She was cold. He held her closer, though he knew he had no heat to give her. The forest air was humid, but it must have chilled her. She was not used to the wilderness the way he was. She thought and moved in more complicated patterns than the ones he followed.

Angel whined uncomfortably. Everything seemed wrong. The hair on the back of his neck rose up, and his body tensed. But how could anything be wrong? He was with her, his mate. His Buffy.

He inhaled again, needing her scent to calm him, to drive away his fears. But her scent only agitated him farther. She smelled of herself, of wildness and sweetness, of strength and light. But also of blood, and of decay. She smelled of death.

He sat up, denying the knowledge his mind was beginning to force upon him. His body did not want to let go. He pulled her to him, propping her form up against his chest so she sat with him. Her eyes were closed. He suddenly longed to see them, their mix of blue and green which shifted from one color to the other, never allowing him to capture the color in his mind and memorize it. He shook her gently, his teeth clenched as he willed her to open her eyes. They stayed closed.

She was so still, and so cold, and so small in his arms with her eyes closed.

He heard himself keening and began to panic. He shook her again, harder and harder. Her head lolled back and forth, her body moved limply with his motion. He smelled salt, and felt tears on his hands, saw through blurred eyes as his tears wet her hair.

A deep howl escaped his lips, and another grew in his throat to replace it. He threw his head back to the stars, his grief shrieking from him in deep, painful gasps. He gathered her up into his arms and held her tightly against his chest, howling his loss to the sky as he rocked her back and forth.

* * * * * * *

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"

The shouted words jerked Buffy awake. She lay still, sorting out her confusion and felt Angel stir next to her. He cried out in his sleep and tightened his grip on her, then his eyes popped open; and he too was awake. She blinked uncertainly, shifted in Angel's arms and looked around for the source of the noise.

Xander stood near the door, his jaw clenched angrily, his knuckles white where he gripped a brown bag with fury-tightened fingers. Buffy pulled away from Angel's grasp, ignoring his growled protest, and stood up. She smoothed her hands over the sides of her skirt a little guiltily, then silently admonished herself for that guilt. She hadn't done anything wrong.

"I was sleeping," she said calmly, finally answering his shouted question.

"With a killer," he bit back, the words sharp and hard in his mouth.

"Angel isn't like that anymore," she countered, still attempting to remain calm. She could see Angel moving out of the corner of her eyes and hoped he would behave. He stalked restlessly back and forth, reaching the end of his chain each time before he turned. The links clinked against the floor, audibly snapping taut each time he reached the end of the slack.

"Uh huh," Xander said, unconvinced. "Let's just ignore the Tarzan imitation he's doing over there. And let me remind you of what caused him to lose his soul in the first place? Remember that? Remember how he killed a bunch of people?"

Buffy clenched her jaw, and her hands tightened into fists. The click of Angel's chain behind her tapped out an irregular rhythm of impatience and barely restrained violence. She could almost feel a similar chain around her own wrist, its links clinking together as she twisted her hand in the material of her skirt.

"I remember everything," she said, her voice dangerously soft.

"Yeah, well then what the hell were you doing sleeping in his arms?" Xander exploded. He advanced toward her, but stopped short when Angel hunched his back and began to snarl, his slitted eyes glittering with violent promise.

"He needs me," Buffy said, keeping her voice steady through an effort of will.

"Oh, is that it?" Xander asked, his voice lowering insidiously. "So we're just supposed to stand aside and let you sleep with a killer because 'he needs you'?"

"You're supposed to trust me!" Buffy exclaimed, her voice beginning to rise. "I'm not an idiot! I would never put you guys in danger. All I did was lie down next to him and fall asleep. Since when is that a crime?"

"Ever since killing Miss. Calendar and who knows how many others was a crime," Xander snapped.

"And here you go, bringing up Miss. Calendar again." Buffy took a step closer to the dark haired boy. "Every chance you get, mention her death. Never mind the fact that you weren't even close to her. Never mind the fact that Willow and Giles lost a hundred times more than you did when she died. Never mind that it hurts them every time you mention her name or her murder. No, none of that matters because you are Xander, the avenger of all wrongs Angelus committed. Xander, the self-righteous. Xander the completely insensitive and most selfish person I've ever known!" Buffy ended her volley of words screaming, her fists tight by her side. Dimly she heard Angel pulling at his chain behind her, agitated by her outburst. Constant, low growling rumbled from his throat.

"You're calling me selfish?" Xander asked in disbelief. He stepped closer to Buffy, his face closer to hers than necessary. "You're the one who put us in danger every night he roamed free." He pointed at Angel, and Angel snapped at the air in his direction, still pulling at his chain. "You're the one who cared more about your own feelings than about the lives of everyone you were supposed to care about. You're the one who ran away and left us because you were so wrapped up in your own pain, your own little world, that you didn't even think what it would mean to us if you left."

"You've never felt what I have, Xander," Buffy hissed, resisting the urge to grab him by the collar and shake him until his teeth rattled in his head. "You have no IDEA how much pain I've felt. You've never had to go through anything even remotely like what I have. You've never died. You've never put the world before yourself every night. You've never had to kill the person you love most because of your duty. Until you do those things, you have no right to judge me."

"No, I've never been the Slayer," Xander agreed. He narrowed his eyes, then continued in a hiss. "But at least I've also never been a vampire's whore."

Buffy felt white hot rage explode behind her eyes and a load roaring filled her ears. She wasn't sure how much of it was in her head and how much came from Angel, who snarled and roared like an enraged animal. Before she had time to think, her fist flew up and slammed into Xander's nose. He fell backwards with the force of the blow, landing hard on his backside, blood streaming from his nostrils. His eyes were wide with shock, and he dropped the bag he held, using the hand instead to clutch his damaged nose. He glared at Buffy from his place on the floor, and Angel pulled harder at his chain.

"Great, Buffy," Xander muttered. "You're the Slayer, and I'm not. Want to hit me again to make sure? Break my nose in another place? It's not going to change the fact that you're protecting a murderer and sleeping with a demon."

"If you call me a whore, I'll break your face," she answered coldly. "That's the new rule. So shut the hell up."

"Look at him for God's sake," Xander demanded in exasperation. Buffy turned and saw that Angel had vamped out some time during the fight. His eyes gleamed yellow under a heavy lidded glare, and his lips curled back from bared fangs. If she had to make a guess, she'd say the change had occurred when her own anger had driven her to attack.

"He was just trying to protect me," she said. "And I'm sure the smell of the blood isn't helping."

"Damn it," Xander said weakly, tilting his head back to try to stop the blood flow from his nose. "Is he looking at my neck?" Buffy shook her head, no. But when she glanced again at Angel she hesitated. The look his dark eyes held as he watched Xander seemed full of barely hidden images of blood and torn flesh.

"I'm just trying to keep you from making a huge mistake. Why can't you see that?" Xander asked, taking a deep breath.

"And I'm trying to tell you that you can't run my life," Buffy said more gently. "I'm a big girl, Xander. I can take care of myself, and I can make my own decisions. Angel is my responsibility, and I am going to deal with it."

"His being here affects all of us," Xander argued. "It's not just your decision."

Buffy made a discouraged noise in the back of her throat and shrugged off her frustration. "Stay here," she ordered. She hurried into the other room and found a dress in Drusilla's trunk. She tore a few long strips from the black satin material, then returned to Xander and Angel. Xander was eyeing the vampire warily, anger and fear playing over his face as he watched the vampire attempting to escape his bonds. Buffy hurried to Xander and helped him use the cloth to stop the blood flow from his nose. Angel rumbled jealously, ran his tongue over his teeth and snapped at the air in Xander's direction.

Buffy pulled away once Xander had the cloth in place. "I'm sorry I hit you," she said after a moment of hesitation.

"Well, I shouldn't have called you a whore," Xander grudgingly acknowledged.

"What are you even doing here?" Buffy asked abruptly.

"Well, I was trying to bring the blood you asked for," Xander answered, emphasizing the word trying.

"I guess you know better than to try that again," Buffy said with a small smile.

"I'm a slow learner," Xander answered, his own lips curving up as well. Buffy picked up the bag, and pulled a large plastic cup full of blood from inside. She stared at the dark liquid for a moment, then looked at Xander questioningly.

"Are you going to stay?"

"You mean to watch him...eat?"

"Yeah, because you don't have to if it's too weird." Buffy paused, then continued when she heard Angel shift behind her. "Anyway it's kind of personal."

"I'm staying," Xander declared, his eyes hardening. Buffy shrugged and studied the cup in her hands.

She approached Angel slowly, not sure how he would react to the smell of blood, especially since he was already agitated. He watched her, his head tilted slightly. His eyes were curious and eager. When she was close enough she extended the cup. Immediately, he snatched it from her hands and retreated until his back was against the wall. He glowered at Xander defensively, hunching himself over the blood protectively.

Too late, Buffy realized she should have taken the plastic cap off the cup before she gave it to him. Then his teeth bit into the top and side of the container. He tore a chunk of Styrofoam and plastic from the cup and spat it to the side. She forced herself to watch as he sucked at the liquid, gulping and swallowing noisily. He drank as if starving, which he probably was. And as if he was afraid someone would snatch the cup from his hand or challenge his right to it, which he also probably was. Somehow the sight of him feeding became less disgusting and more sad while she watched. She wondered how long it had been since he had eaten.

When the cup was empty, Angel studied it carefully for any missed drops. Then he looked hopefully around the room for more. He still growled over the empty container, clutching it with both hands and eyeing Xander with suspicion. But slowly his growling lessened, and he threw the cup on the floor carelessly. His back humped, his head thrust outward, and he crouched against the wall.

"That was certainly educational," Xander said flippantly. "He definitely seems more like a human being to me now."

"Xander, shut up," Buffy said, too tired to deal with his sarcasm. He studied her silently for a moment, his gaze softer and more serious than normal.

"Look, you know how I feel about this," he said finally. "And I know you're never going to listen to me. So I'm going to try to trust you with him, because I need to not miss my physics test." He hesitated, catching Buffy's eyes with his own. "Just...try not to sleep with him, okay? And find him a shirt or something." Buffy smiled, and he returned the smile cautiously.

"You can yell at me more later," she promised.

"Yeah, I will," he agreed. "Just as long as you don't get to hit me again." He touched the side of his swollen nose gingerly. He smiled again to show her he was joking and hurried outside, not wanting to see how tenderly she looked at the vampire who was chained to the wall like a dog. He didn't understand it, and he doubted he ever would.

Buffy heard the door shut, but her attention had already returned to Angel. It only took a little while for him to begin moving away from the wall towards her. Like a magnet, he yearned for physical contact with his other half. He was drawn to her as if the connection between them was a law of nature, impossible to resist, ridiculous to deny. She noticed that his wrist was bleeding again. The manacle had scraped it raw from the strength of his desire to free himself. She walked toward him, holding one hand out to calm him and clutching a strip of fabric in the other.

He remained still, not even flinching when she twisted the cloth over the raw, scraped skin. He only watched as she tied the bandage firmly in place, her fingertips lingering a moment too long on his skin. He drew in a breath of her scent. And then she pulled away. He whined deep in his throat, but she did not come any closer.

She needed to be more careful around him. She wasn't afraid that he would hurt her. She trusted him completely. But she didn't trust herself around him. It was too easy to be close to him, to touch him and hold him. It was too easy for closeness to lead to...other things. She backed up until she reached the wall directly opposite his crouching form, and then she sat with her back pressed against the stone and watched him.


	6. Buried Alive: Part Six

**Buried Alive**

**Part Six**

Buffy looked up from the pages of the notebook propped on her knees when she heard the door open. She had been attempting to study in the hopes that it would distract her from the nearness of Angel. At least it was something to do besides stare at him. However, she found it nearly impossible to concentrate, and her head had begun to droop; and her eyes had drifted shut for longer and longer periods of time. Each blink ended up being almost a nap. But when the door opened, she jerked awake immediately. Angel's head snapped up as well, and his lips pulled back into a snarl though he remained where he was, crouching against the wall.

Giles entered the room first and approached her, staying as far from Angel as he could. Willow and Xander followed. Willow held a big plastic bag, which Buffy wondered about for a moment before she was distracted by Faith joining the group. The room seemed suddenly uncomfortably crowded. Angel's head whipped from side to side as if he were unsure of whether to hide or attempt to fight. Buffy felt her jaw tighten at the hard look Faith was giving her, but she tried to relax. Then she ordered herself not to be offended by the wary glances the others were shooting at Angel and at her.

Buffy pulled herself to her feet, trying desperately to pretend this was just any other day and there was nothing strained between her and the others. A quick glance at Angel hunched over on himself across the stone floor marked with a black burn in the shape of a body was enough to remind her this was not "any other day."

"Hi," she said simply. There were several nods of greeting. "Where's the rest of the gang?"

"Oh, Cordy had cheerleading practice," Xander explained.

"Right, and Oz had band practice," Willow added.

"They're practicing fools," Xander said with a grin.

"But they know?" Buffy asked. "About him I mean?"

"We informed them of the situation," Giles confirmed. "But there is little they can do to assist, so we felt it best not to disrupt their lives any more than necessary."

"Good," Buffy said with a nod.

"How'd today go?" Willow asked, glancing at Xander's bruised face.

"It was strangely quiet," Buffy said, then corrected herself when she caught the glance at Xander. "Mostly." He smiled wryly at her, and she continued. "The BloodHound guy never showed up, which I don't get because it's not like I did that great a job when I fought him last time."

"I may be able to shed some light on that matter," Giles answered.

"So you found something?" Buffy asked.

"We did," Giles agreed. "As far as why he did not attack you today," he hesitated. "The BloodHound is not evil. He is not like a vampire, killing for fun or pleasure. He is designed to serve a function, and he attempts to fulfill that function without disturbing innocents." Angel peered at the group warily with glittering, curious eyes, his head cocked to the side as if listening to the information. Buffy wondered if he understood any of what they were saying. She decided hearing human voices couldn't hurt him, even if it didn't actually help.

"So he's just doing his job," Buffy offered.

"Yes," Giles confirmed. "The reason he did not attack is because he was waiting for you to leave Angel alone so he could perform his function without harming innocents."

"No offense, Giles," Buffy said softly. "But I don't see a being from _Hell_ being that concerned about innocents. And he did attack me before."

"Did he?" Giles asked with a raised eyebrow. "Or did you attack him?"

"Okay, I attacked him first," Buffy agreed reluctantly. "And he did come in right as I was leaving. But still...being from Hell."

"He serves a function, Buffy," Giles argued. "Imagine if the people or demons banished to Hell were able to escape that dimension without him there to take them back where they belong. With beings of evil allowed to roam free, this Earth would itself become Hell."

"I get your point," Buffy said. "But Angel's not like those people who should be in Hell."

"Isn't he?" Xander asked softly, not meeting Buffy's eyes.

"Xander, he has his soul," Buffy answered automatically, crossing her arms uncomfortably over her chest.

"A lot of evil humans have their souls too," Faith said coldly. For the first time, Buffy realized the other Slayer had a stake in her hand and was tapping it against her palm. Buffy narrowed her eyes at the slight noise the rhythmic tapping made. Angel seemed to respond to the anger she felt heating her face. He lunged once against his chain, then subsided, seemingly content to continue watching. Faith's hand tightened around the stake when she saw him lunge, but she remained where she was.

"This is different," Buffy said, her voice only slightly strained.

"All I'm saying, is maybe we should let this BloodHound do his job," Faith said, jamming her hands, and the stake, in the pockets of her jacket. "I mean, why should be put our own lives at risk to keep this guy from doing what needs to be done?" Buffy frowned, forcing her anger and panic aside when they surged up to close her throat.

"I'm not asking any of you to risk your lives," she said, her voice sounding tight and forced to her own ears. "I'll do whatever I think is right with my own life."

"We can't let you throw your life away," Giles said as calmly as he could.

"We care about you," Willow agreed.

"Look, I know you guys are just trying to watch out for me," Buffy said, scrubbing at her face with her hands in an attempt to rub out the exhaustion and the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She briefly considered what they were saying. Just let the BloodHound do what he was meant to, return Angel to Hell, return to the life she was building without him. She dashed the thoughts with a shudder. She simply could not believe Angel belonged in Hell, could not believe he was beyond help, and could not let him go again. "But it's my life, and I will make my own decisions," she continued more forcefully. "I will not stand by and let anyone take Angel back to Hell or kill him or...I am going to protect him." She stared at each of her friends in turn, challenging them with her eyes.

"Your life means more to me than any vampire," Xander said, anger tinting his voice.

"And Angel's life means as much to me as my own," she snapped back. "Anyway, Giles said the BloodHound won't try to take Angel when an innocent is with him, so aIl I have to do is hang around and eventually he'll give up."

"No," Giles said, shaking his head. "The BloodHound will not wait forever. He does not desire to hurt innocents, and as I said he will avoid it if he can. But he _must_ bring Angel back with him, and if he has to hurt others to do it he will. He's waiting for us to leave Angel alone, but if we do not, he will come again. And when he does, we must assume all bets are off. I am quite sure we cannot hold him off much longer simply by waiting." Buffy mulled the words over for a moment then came to a decision.

"I'm going home," she decided. "I'm going to get some sleep and go to school tomorrow. Probably he'll wait that long, right?"

"It is possible," Giles agreed slowly.

"So that way I won't be as tired when he does come, and I won't be too behind on school work because after tomorrow is the weekend; and he'll most likely show up before Monday."

"And if you get killed school won't matter much anyway, huh?" Xander said bitterly.

"I'm not going to get killed," Buffy insisted. "This is a good plan." She hesitated. "But I need someone to stay with him while I'm at home and at school." She looked at the half circle of faces around her. Xander's mouth was set in a stubborn line. She had expected as much from him. Faith looked disgusted at the very idea of guarding a vampire. Buffy wouldn't have trusted her with Angel anyway. It was too likely she would decide to do them all a favor and stake Angel while he was chained up. Willow's face wasn't closed to the idea, but she showed the most fear. The idea of facing the BloodHound obviously did not appeal to her. Or maybe it was just the idea of staying in the same room with a wild Angel. Giles. Buffy looked at him a long moment. His eyes held anger toward Angel, and fear as well. But more than that, they held acceptance of the fact that Buffy would attempt to defend Angel no matter what, and if no one helped her she would attempt to defend him without having slept in two days.

"Giles?" She made it a question.

"I'll stay," he confirmed.

"Thank you," she said, but her eyes spoke of gratitude deeper than words. She stood befuddled for a moment, not really able to comprehend or plan what to do next, even if what to do next was just putting one foot in front of the other. Finally she roused herself when the pressure of the silence was too much.

"So I guess I'll just go," she said, her brow wrinkling. The others began to move, as if her words broke them from a stupor. Willow shifted the bag she held to her other hand, looked at it, then at Buffy.

"We brought this," she said and extended the bag toward Buffy.

"What is it?" Buffy asked.

"A shirt," Xander told her. She felt the beginnings of a smile pull at her lips, but she was too tired to grin. "For him," Xander clarified.

"Yeah, I got that," Buffy said, pulling a white, long-sleeved shirt out of the bag. "I have a feeling it was your idea. But honestly, I don't know if I should even try at this point."

"You just don't want to cover up his naked chest," Xander said, in mock accusation. Buffy dismissed that idea with a wave of her hand.

"How could I get it on him without taking off the chains?" she asked. Xander shrugged.

Buffy studied the vampire, her lips pursed thoughtfully. She had no idea how he would react when he realized she was leaving him. She suddenly felt sure it would be a bad idea to leave him as he was during Giles' watch. The librarian had been greatly wronged by Angel. For his sake, if not actually needed to prevent escape, she would have to chain Angel's other arm up as well. She knew it would make Giles feel safer, and though she did not honestly believe Angel would hurt a human being, it would make her feel better too.

"Hey, Faith," she said finally. "Go look in the trunk in the next room. See if there's anymore chains left." Faith nodded and went in search of chains. Buffy looked down at the wrinkled material of the shirt in her hands, then she folded it and put it on the ground near the wall. One challenge at a time, putting on the shirt would have to wait until later.

"Is there anything else I should know about the BloodHound?" she asked as she gathered up her books and zipped her backpack closed.

"Oh, the eyes," Willow said quickly. The redhead looked to Giles, and he drew himself out of his study of the stones beneath his feet.

"Right," he confirmed. He turned to Buffy. "You noticed they were completely white. The BloodHound is blind. His sight was removed as a way to bind him further to his purpose. He hunts by, by a sort of sixth sense if you will. The impressions he recieves from this sense are greatly detailed, almost as good as sight. But he is limited to his prey and the lives which surround his prey. He cannot 'see' nor 'sense' anything else. The world outside his task does not exist for him."

"So that forces him to be focused on the hunt," Buffy finished.

"Correct," Giles agreed.

"Okay, don't know if that helps with figuring out how to defeat him or not, but it's good to know," Buffy said with a nod. Faith returned from the next room, her arms filled with the bunched links of a chain.

"Want me to put it on him?" she asked.

"Uh...no," Buffy answered. She didn't like the gleam which lit Faith's eyes at the thought of chaining Angel. He was too volatile to risk allowing Faith to provoke him, and Buffy didn't trust her not to be rougher with him than was necessary. "I'll do it."

"I'll give you a hand," Xander offered. He shrugged off the look Buffy gave him. "I promise I don't want to hurt him or anything. I just thought you might want help."

"Maybe I do," Buffy agreed. "Last time I chained him up, he was unconscious."

"Kinky," Xander said with a grin. Buffy swatted him absently, her attention divided between the chain and Angel, who was watching the proceedings suspiciously. His hands were pressed flat on the floor in front of his knees. He looked up at her through heavy lidded eyes. For the first time, Buffy noticed that Angel still had a manacle on the wrist without the chain. The BloodHound had snapped the chain, but she had not thought to remove the manacle from which three of four chain links dangled. She felt a sudden pang of remorse, then shoved it aside. The scrapes on his wrists would heal.

"So do you want me to just run in and grab his arm or something?" Xander asked. He bounced on his heels nervously, shaking his arms and legs like a runner to rid himself of fear inspired excess energy. Buffy nodded slowly, chewing thoughtfully on her lip, then changed her mind.

"Actually...why don't you take this end of the chain and hook it up to the ring? See the ring in the wall behind him?" She pointed to the ring the other chain was already attached to. "And I'll put the manacle on at the same time. That should work, right?" She turned to look at Willow and Giles for confirmation. Willow bobbed her head, not without uncertainty; and Giles raised his eyebrows, but nodded as well. Faith simply watched with her hands on her hips. Buffy took a deep breath and turned her eyes back to Angel.

He seemed to know they were up to something; he growled warningly, deep and low in his throat, when they stepped toward him. He pulled himself up so his feet touched the floor, and his hands were clenched into fists above bent knees. He growled again, backing up a step.

"We're not going to hurt you," Buffy said softly. Speaking to him with the others around made her feel silly, like being caught talking to yourself. Alone with him, she could almost believe he understood her words; but with the others around she had the feeling her words were wasted. She and Xander advanced another step and another. She tensed and saw Xander do the same. "Now," she said, trying to keep from shouting the command. The two of them leapt forward, each holding an end of the chain.

Angel immediately became a flurry of motion. He twisted away from them, avoiding Buffy's grasp; and his fists darted out, sending Xander stumbling backwards. He advanced on Xander, snarling, and his fists lashed out again. One of them grazed the boy's temple with enough force to send him sprawling on the ground. And then Xander pulled himself out of range of the chain. Angel strained against the binding on his wrist, snapping at Xander's foot. Buffy tried to get his attention, yelled his name, but he ignored her. Xander kept moving until his back hit the wall. Then he stared in undisguised fear at the vampire who was almost jerking his own arm out of its socket in an attempt to pull the chain out of the wall.

"Shit," he muttered, feeling his temple gingerly. "Someone else try to help Buffy this time," he said. "I'm done."

"Are you okay?" Buffy asked, dropping the chain she still held and hurrying to his side. She tried to touch his head; but he recoiled, jerking his head away from her hand.

"I'll help, B," Faith volunteered quickly.

"Maybe you should knock him out again," Willow suggested. She knelt beside Xander, and he allowed her to gently probe the knot forming beneath the skin of his temple. Giles joined them, but after examining Xander briefly, he allowed Willow to deal with the wound. It had not been a serious blow, and he was sure Xander would not have a concussion. Buffy moved away from Xander, hurt by his rejection of her touch; but understanding it all the same.

"No," Buffy answered both Faith and Willow at once. "I'll do it myself. He trusts me more than he trusts any of you."

"Don't get too close," Faith offered by way of advice. "And if he won't let you put it on him, a kick to the head should do the trick."

"Do the words excessive force mean anything to you?" Buffy asked wryly.

"They do to me," Xander muttered.

"Everyone be quiet," Buffy ordered. "Try not to move around or agitate him. He was only trying to defend himself." She didn't bother to see how the others were taking her words. She wanted them quiet, and if they were bitter about it then too bad. They weren't the ones being chained to the wall; they could stand a harsh tone of voice.

She advanced toward Angel slowly, her hand outstretched, her palm facing upwards to show him it was empty. He saw she was the only one who approached him and saw that the others, the ones he did not know, remained where they were, a safe distance away. He stopped fighting with his chain, and his growling lessened, softened. By the time she was close enough to touch him, he had stopped moving. He crouched at the end of his chain, trembling, his teeth bared. His eyes were wide, and he rolled them in fear when she bent down slowly to retrieve the chain from the floor. But he remained motionless.

She cautiously reached for his arm, expecting him to avoid her hand or move away from her touch. He did not, instead he extended his arm almost imperceptibly in her direction. She fit the manacle over it, and twisted the screw in to close the metal binder. He shivered under her touch. She was not sure how much of it was fear and how much was desire. His nostrils flared, and he bared his teeth at the scent of the metal. But her scent was the stronger, and he remained still. She stroked the skin of his palm gently with her fingers, touched his arm lightly, traced the curve of his wrist, and removed the old manacle with its links of broken chain. The slight jingle they made as she drew the metal away from his skin penetrated her ears, and she realized with a start that she was whispering to him and had been for some time. His head was cocked to the side, and he was listening to her voice. His lips came down over his bared teeth, and his eyes were not as wide as they had been. Her fingertips lingered on his hand, and then she moved slowly to the wall with the other end of the chain. Again she expected him to pull at the chain, to attempt escape.

He took a tiny step closer to her, his head jutting in her direction. She quickly attached the end of the chain to the ring in the wall and paused. He had taken several more steps. She put out her empty hand, and his nostrils flared again. They stood that way for a moment, and then she stretched her arm to run her fingers through his hair. She traced the curve of his face, and he turned his head in toward her palm, nuzzling her slightly. When she stepped away, he whined his complaint but remained where he was.

Once she was out of his reach, she turned away from him and returned to the others. They watched her with something like unease, and something like awe, in their eyes. The silence she had asked for held. Willow dashed away the tears forming in her eyes, and Buffy felt suddenly uncomfortable. She could not understand why they studied her with such intensity, nor could she stand the idea that she had done something extraordinary.

"That wasn't so hard," she said, her voice deliberately cheerful.

"Indeed," Giles answered uncertainly, and the silence broke. Everyone began to speak in rapid succession, sometimes overlapping one another.

"You should go home and get some rest," Willow said.

"I'm gonna stay with Giles here until nightfall," Faith interjected. "Then I'll head out for patrol."

"I'll come by later and see how things are," Xander added. "Bring you some tea." He grinned, then winced when the smile reminded him how sore he was. "But right now, Aspirin sounds like a good idea."

"I'll walk you home," Willow offered. Buffy strapped on her backpack while the others talked, resolutely denying herself another look at Angel. Xander and Willow moved from their position on the floor.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Giles," Buffy said quietly. Then she hurried from the room before anyone could address her, ignoring the howl she heard when she closed the door behind her. It wasn't as if he needed her with him every second. And he should get used to the idea of her coming and going. There was no need to worry. She wasn't worried at all. He would be fine. And so would Giles. And so would she. Fine.


	7. Buried Alive: Part Seven

**Buried Alive**

**Part Seven**

Buffy trudged up to her front porch. She was so tired she could barely see straight. Now that she was away from the mansion, away from Angel and the desperate need to keep her eyes open, her body was collapsing. She told herself it was only a few steps more, just into the house, up the stairs and then her bed would be welcoming her with the promise of sleep.

She entered the house and immediately headed up the stairs. She had only managed to climb two of the steps when her mother's voice stopped her.

"Buffy?" she called. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, mom," Buffy answered with a muffled groan. "I'm going to bed." She climbed another stair before her mother reached the foyer and kept her from continuing.

"I need to talk to you," Joyce said firmly.

"Okay, but can it wait until later?" Buffy begged. "I'm so tired right now. I'm pretty sure if I don't keep moving I'm going to fall asleep right here." Joyce thought for a moment, then compromised.

"I'll go up to your room with you," she said, her tone insisting that she would not be swayed.

"Fine." Buffy gave in, knowing an attempt to argue with her mother would just draw out the conversation they were obviously going to have. The only way to avoid it would have been to run upstairs and lock the door.

She climbed the stairs slowly and entered her room with her mother close behind. Then she flopped down on the bed, too tired to change into her sleepwear. Joyce settled herself on the edge of the bed.

"I'll let you get to sleep soon," she promised. Buffy nodded, her eyes already drifting closed. She tried to widen them, but it was a losing battle.

"Where were you last night and all day today?" Joyce asked.

"Didn't the others tell you I had Slayer stuff?" Buffy asked, snuggling the back of her head against the pillow.

"Yes, Buffy they did." Joyce answered sharply. "But slayer stuff could refer to anything. Most of it life-threatening. I want to know what's happening."

"It really doesn't concern you," Buffy said, trying to avoid the issue.

"You're my daughter. It concerns me," Joyce countered.

"But there's nothing you can do. And it's sort of personal."

"Look," Joyce began. "I know you're the Slayer. I know I have to let you go out there and kill demons and avert the apocalypse. I've accepted that. I understand that. But I will not let you shut me out. You owe it to me to tell me what's going on." Buffy opened her mouth to mumble a protest, but Joyce cut her off. "No, if I have to let you put your life in danger, the least you can do is keep me informed." The Slayer resigned herself to defeat and tried to figure out the fastest way to explain things so she could stop fighting with her eyelids.

"Do you remember Angel?" Buffy finally asked.

"Your psychotic ex-boyfriend?" Joyce asked. "He was a vampire, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was, is, a vampire," Buffy confirmed. She finished the rest of her explanation quickly, as if saying the words faster made them lose their ability to sting her. "He was psychotic because he lost his soul. Willow restored it, but I had to send him to Hell to save the world." Joyce nodded slowly as the backstory sunk in. Some of it sounded familiar, but no one had really explained the situation to her. Once Angel was in Hell, there hadn't really seemed to be a need to tell her much about him. "Right, well he's back," Buffy finished. She turned on her side and curled her body slightly, closing her eyes for a long moment.

"What?" Joyce asked blankly. "He's back from Hell? As in THE Hell?"

"Yeah," she mumbled. "I don't know how either, but he is and he needs my help and I'm going to give it to him." Buffy gritted her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut tighter. She was getting tired of having to defend her actions regarding Angel.

"He doesn't seem like a very nice boy," Joyce said doubtfully.

"He's not a boy," Buffy said absently.

"That's the other problem."

"It's my business, and my decision."

"What about that Scott boy you were seeing? He seems normal." Buffy muffled a groan and began to massage her temples. She had forgotten about Scott. She would have to dump him when she saw him at school the next day. Not fun. Not fun at all. Her brain whirled sluggishly.

"Scott," she said blankly. Then she deserted that line of reasoning and clung to the point she was determined to make. "I'm helping Angel."

"I just don't think it's a very good idea," her mother continued. "This Angel person hurt you so badly before."

"I'm not dating him anymore, mom," Buffy said, smothering a yawn. "But I hurt him too, and he's still hurting. I need to make things right."

"Well, I suppose..." Joyce began. She admitted to herself that much as she hated it there was nothing she could do to stop her daughter from helping the vampire. And once he was better, Buffy could move on to another boy, a boy who was nice and normal. She hoped. She turned to remind her daughter to be careful and saw that Buffy had fallen asleep. She stroked her hand along her daughter's forehead, tracing Buffy's eyebrow with her thumb.

"She looks so young when she's sleeping," she whispered to herself. "How can she be the Slayer?" She gently pressed her lips to her daughter's head and left the room, pausing in the doorway to take one last, lingering look at the girl, peaceful in sleep. Then she closed the door softly behind her and went downstairs to make sure they had some of Buffy's favorite ice cream in the freezer.

* * * * * * * * * *

Giles removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He was alone in the mansion with Angel, Faith had left almost an hour ago for patrol. Xander was coming by later, but right now Giles was alone. He closed his eyes for a moment, then returned his attention to the pages of the book in front of him. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair he had dragged in from the next room, then snapped the book shut impatiently.

Finally allowing himself to do what his reading was not distraction enough to avoid, he lifted his gaze to study Angel. His eyes drank in the face of the man who had killed the woman he loved, who had tortured him for hours. No, he realized he was wrong on two counts; this was not the same person who had killed Jenny. This person, if you could call it a person, had a soul. And this person, thing, vampire was most certainly not a man. Angel swiped at his ear with the back of his hand then scratched his cheek, growling softly to himself.

This pathetic creature shared little with the vampire who had taunted him and laughed at his pain. He could still see Angelus laughing at him. He could still see Jenny's eyes staring sightlessly from where her body lay limp on his bed. It was all there, right behind his eyelids. All he had to do was close his eyes, and he could see it all again and again.

He felt a sudden surge of anger at the vampire who snuffled over bent knees, chained and helpless and not human. Anger that he did not remember what he had done. Anger that he could not speak. Anger that he did not feel incapacitated by guilt every time he looked into Giles' face. Giles clenched his teeth, shaking for a moment as fury swept through him. He wanted more than anything to punch the face that had caused his pain, to beat it with his fists until it was unrecognizable. He screamed soundlessly within his mind, choking on the sound to keep it from escaping his mouth.

He drew in a shaky breath and forced himself to be calm. Then he turned cold, dispassionate eyes on the face that still haunted his dreams. He traced the lines and curves of his form, relearning them. For the first time the vampire returned his gaze. Their eyes met and were caught. Angel stared, locked in place, and Giles felt as if he would never move again. Buffy would come the next day and find them both still sitting there, entranced. Giles tried to read the vampire's gaze. Fear was there, wariness as well; animal instinct that led Angel to fear the seated figure he did not know. Then Angel's eyes flickered with some form of recognition, Giles was sure of it; and he jerked back physically, dragging chains. He lowered his gaze to the floor and shivered, though Giles knew he could not possibly be cold.

He heard the vampire muttering, and though he wasn't sure, he could have sworn he was speaking words. Or one word again and again. Giles strained his ears, leaning forward in his chair.

"Wronged."

There, that was it, he was almost sure that was the word. A sense of triumph filled him with the realization that Angel could remember, perhaps not the details of what he had done, but at least the fact that he had wronged the Watcher. The rest he would remember in time and that was enough for Giles.

Giles stared at the vampire, who was hunched at the end of his chain, shooting small, wary glances at the Watcher, and wondered if he would ever be able to look into that face, into those eyes, without hate. He hoped for Buffy's sake he would.

He hoped for his own sake he would.

And looking at the fear in Angel's eyes, the pain as he struggled to remember how he knew the man that watched him, he thought one day there would be no hate; one day he would be able to forgive. This was not the demon who had killed Jenny. The demon was in there, but the person was hurting perhaps as badly as Giles himself did.

Somehow both satisfied and sorry, Giles returned to his book.


	8. Buried Alive: Part Eight

**Buried Alive**

**Part Eight**

Buffy entered the library the next day with her stomach in knots. She felt a little better after having slept, but her nerves were strung too tight. She felt as if she were walking on the tips of her toes, her muscles tensed to face some threat she couldn't identify. She eased herself into one of the chairs situated around the table, but after a few seconds she stood up again and began to pace. Her skin was prickling as if someone were following her, or she was walking into some sort of danger. She shook her head. There was no danger here, and Angel should be fine for a few more hours.

Willow pushed open the doors of the library and called a greeting to her friend.

"Hey, Will," Buffy answered, rubbing her hands roughly up and down her arms.

"Did you get some sleep?"

"Yeah, my mom talked to me for a little while, but it's all a little blurry. I think I fell asleep in the middle of the conversation."

"Well, that's one way to get out of talking to your parents," Willow said with a smile. She perched on the table, watching the Slayer pace the floor. "Worried about Angel?" she asked.

"I'm sure he's fine," Buffy said. "But I guess I am worried. I just have this feeling...like something's going to happen."

"A bad something?"

"I guess so," Buffy agreed. "I mean I didn't really analyze it. But now that you say that...I suppose it would be a bad something. Otherwise I wouldn't be worried, right?"

"Well, if it helps...a lot of times when I leave the house I'm sure I forgot something, but nine times out of ten I'm just being paranoid."

"You're right," Buffy said, stopping her pacing. "I'm sure it's just that I didn't totally get caught up on sleep or something."

"And of course you're going to be worried," Willow said with a wave of her hand. "You have all this stress that suddenly fell into your life."

"Yeah, exactly," Buffy said, resting her hands on the back of the chair. She was still for a moment, then began to strum out a rhythm with her hands. Willow smiled, and Buffy stopped herself, smiling back. "I'm just jittery today."

"Look, Buffy," Willow started. "I hope you know that some of us are glad Angel's back." She hesitated, playing with the sleeve of her fuzzy peach sweater. "And by some of us, I mean me. And by Angel being back, I mean...I know it's not really Angel, exactly." She lifted her gaze to meet Buffy's, and her voice grew more certain. "But I was the one who did the spell. I wanted him back, and we all agreed that we would try to get his soul back. Well, except for Xander but he doesn't count."

"But this isn't what you planned."

"Maybe not, things obviously got royally screwed up. But Angel IS back, so in a roundabout way what I wanted to happen with the spell did. So why should I be unhappy about that?" Buffy opened her mouth to protest, but Willow quickly cut her off.

"I admit to being a little scared and shocked at first. But I am glad you got him back. Really." Buffy stared at the smooth surface of the wooden table for a moment, her hands frozen on the back of the chair while she tried to blink back the tears filling her eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"I want you to be happy," Willow answered. "You're my best friend, and I know lately there's been a lot of stuff between us. But this isn't going to be part of that stuff. I'm with you on this one."

"Thank you," Buffy said again, taking a step toward her best friend and enfolding her in a hug. Her hands clutched at the material of Willow's sweater, and tears began to roll down her cheeks. Willow returned the hug and brought her hand up to stroke Buffy's back soothingly. "You're my best friend, Will," Buffy said quietly. "And for the first time since I sent Angel to Hell, I don't feel like I'm alone." Willow tightened her embrace and drew in an unsteady breath as she tried to fight her own tears.

"You don't have to be alone," she said. "You know you can tell me anything."

"I know now," Buffy agreed. She pulled back a little and wiped her eyes, then stepped away from Willow. She smiled shakily. "I always like to have a good cry before school starts. It really gets me ready to face the day." Willow laughed, brushing away her own tears.

"Tell me about it. Who needs this breakfast crap?"

"So do you have any big tests or anything today?" Buffy asked. "And are you really, really okay with the whole Angel thing? Because if you aren't I would understand and I would still love you, but I..." She stopped miserably, silently telling herself to stop spazzing and take Willow at her word.

"I really am," Willow reassured her. "Okay with it I mean. I am so okay with it that it amazes even myself." She smiled again, then grew serious. "I think he's got a long hard road ahead, and you do too for that matter. But I think you guys are going to make it."

"I hope so," Buffy said, clenching her hands. "I mean I DO believe he's going to recover. But at the same time..."

"You know what convinced me?" Willow asked. "When you put the chain on him, and he knew who you were, and I swear watching you I could SEE how much he still loves you. And if he loves you when he's like that...then I can believe that the old Angel is in there somewhere, and he will come back to you."

"God, Will," Buffy said with an embarrassed shrug. "You always know exactly the right thing to say, don't you?"

"Well, I am practically a genius," Willow said, smiling.

"Practically, my ass," Buffy exclaimed. "You are totally a genius. Now if you can just convince Xander of all the stuff you said..."

"I'm a genius not a miracle worker!" Willow laughed. The bell jangled loudly, and Buffy jumped at the sound. She scooped up her backpack, then impulsively hugged her friend again.

"You are the best person ever," she whispered.

"So are you," Willow replied. She smiled into her friend's hair and returned the hug, then they broke apart to head to their respective classes.

* * * * * * *

Buffy's anxiety returned during her first class period. She tried to take deep breaths and remain calm. She told herself it was paranoia, but she still got reprimanded twice for the annoying tapping noise her pencil made as she repeatedly whacked her desk with it.

Finally the bell released her, and she hurried down the hall to her next class. Halfway there she changed her mind and went to the water fountain, hoping a drink would calm her nerves.

She heard a voice call her name and turned her head to see Scott hurrying down the hall toward her.

"Hey, Buffy," he said when he reached her. She noticed absently that his backpack was slung over just one shoulder and wondered if she should tell him that he could damage his spinal column that way. Instead, she smiled weakly.

"Hi," she replied.

"So were you sick yesterday?" he asked, grabbing her hand. "If you were, you look like you're feeling better. And by that, I mean you look amazing. Come on, I'll walk you to class."

"Oh," Buffy said brilliantly. She took her hand gently of his grasp. "Look, we need to talk."

"Uh oh," Scott said warily. "This can't be good."

"Maybe we should talk about it at lunch or later today when we have more time," Buffy suggested.

"No, it's okay," he said, shaking his head. "If you have something to tell me, you can say it now."

"This is really hard for me to say," Buffy started, taking a deep breath. "Because you're a really great guy, and you've been so sweet."

"This is definitely not good," Scott decided.

"I think we should break up," Buffy finally blurted out, rubbing at the back of her neck nervously.

"Why?" he asked. "Did I do something?"

"It's not you. It's just there's a lot going on in my life right now..."

"And there's no room for me," Scott finished.

"Well, yes."

He nodded seriously. "I can't really say I'm surprised. You've always seemed like you were distracted by...something." Buffy guiltily stopped fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "I don't mean it's your fault or anything. I just mean that I knew from the beginning this might not work out. I hoped it would, but like I said, this isn't exactly a surprise."

"I'm sorry," Buffy said miserably. She stood awkwardly facing him for a moment, unsure of what to do with her hands or where to look. "Well, I have to get to class."

"Yeah, me too," he agreed.

"Okay, I guess I'll see you around," Buffy said, backing away, then turning on her heel and hurrying down the hallway. She shook her head, wishing she had been able to do that with some sort of finesse. She knew neither she nor Scott were going to be crying into their pillows all night over this one, but she couldn't help feeling bad about the whole situation. She had basically used him as a substitute for what she really wanted, and dropped him as soon as Angel came back. Which was pretty unfair, especially since the fact that Angel was back didn't mean she couldn't see other guys once he was better. She wasn't even seeing Angel, romantically. Okay so she had kissed Angel briefly, sort of, but it was barely even a kiss. And yes, she had fallen asleep in his arms. But like she had told Xander, Angel needed that kind of support right now. It didn't mean she was seeing him, so rationally she could have kept seeing Scott. But that was a lie. How could she have explained to Scott that she had to take care of her ex-boyfriend? She bit her lip, admitting to herself that she didn't want to see any other guys anyway, ever. With a grimace, she told herself she had bigger problems to deal with, pushed it all as far from the front of her mind as she could, and entered her class.

* * * * * * *

By lunchtime, Buffy thought she was going to scream or run screaming down the halls, or climb the walls while screaming, or do something else that was just as drastic and also involved screaming. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was danger threatening, that something was going to happen. In fact, the feeling had gotten worse. The hair on the back of her neck was standing at attention; she jumped at every noise. Her muscles felt like they were going to cramp up, they were so tight.

She entered the library where Willow and Xander sat at the table in the center of the room. She looked at them for a second, her eyes too wide.

"What's wrong, Buff?" Xander asked.

"I'm going to the mansion," she spat out from behind clenched teeth. "I can't take this anymore."

"You still feel like there's something going to happen?" Willow asked.

"I feel like my skin is going to crawl away from me," she said, rolling her eyes. "Maybe there's nothing to worry about, but I have to go. If I stay here any longer, the something that happens will be me going insane."

"By all means, go," Xander said with a shudder. "And may I say, thanks for the lovely skin visual."

"We can come with you," Willow offered.

"No," Buffy said. "No offense but if there is something happening I don't know how much help you'll be. And if there isn't I don't want to drag you on a wild goose chase."

"No offense taken," Xander said with a smile. "I didn't want to go with you anyway. I like the company of my sandwich much better than the company of a skinless Slayer."

"I'll see you guys later today," Buffy said.

"We'll come by after school and make sure everything's cool," Willow said.

"Great. Bye." Buffy backed out of the library and walked as fast as she could off school grounds. Then she started to run, the prickling of her skin driving her pace.

* * * * *

Angel snarled as the man scraped the cold blade of a knife over his chest. Blood spilled from the wound, vivid red. The smell penetrated Angel's nostrils and he gasped, his eyes rolling back. He jerked against his restraints, but could not move. He couldn't even see the restraints. They did not feel like chains, or rope. It was more like he simply could not move his limbs, no matter how hard he struggled to move, his body stayed where it was.

A burst of pain stopped his struggles as the boy smashed him across the back with something hard. A piece of metal, a piece of wood. He couldn't tell. He growled, trying to turn his head so he could see his attacker. But even this small movement was too much. He was helpless, utterly and completely.

He screamed, gnashing teeth and fangs; but it did not stop the next blow from smashing into his face. He blinked back blood and pain, staring into the faces of the forms that tormented him. They were familiar faces, and yet he could not place them. He howled again in frustration, betrayed by both mind and body.

The one who attacked him this time was a girl, and the power with which she hit him belied her small size. Her eyes blazed with rage, and Angel tried to shrink from it but could not.

He did not understand the torture. He had tried at first. He had wracked his brain, trying to remember how he knew these people who surrounded him, trying to remember what he had done to deserve this. He could never manage to grasp anything more than the fact that he had known them once, cared for them. And that he had hurt them in some way. He knew he deserved this torment. They told him that much again and again. He only wished he could remember why.

He screamed, squeezing his eyes shut as a blade sunk into his shoulder and more blood poured from him. He could not remember how long this had been going on. Nor did he care. One day was the same as the next; an hour was the same as a year. He did not know how much blood he had lost; he only knew it was not enough to kill him. And his wounds healed only to be reopened.

He opened his eyes with a snap when a new scent overpowered the smell of blood and hate.

Her.

He breathed it in as deeply as he could. It always came just when he thought he could stand no more of the pain. Or when he had almost given up on trying to remember, trying to escape, trying at all. It was like a breath of new life. He had not seen her yet. Her scent was all he had of her, but he opened his eyes to look for her every time her essence entered his nostrils.

His eyes widened in surprise, and he did not feel the blow that fell across his legs. She was there. Not just the sense of her, but the body, the sight. He suddenly felt no pain, felt no despair. He would have been content to remain frozen in place, content even to suffer the pain, if only he could look at her that way forever, a small smile on her lips.

"Buffy," he pleaded. "Stay."

"Close your eyes," she said softly. And he did, though he wanted only to look at her, keep looking at her, reassure himself that she was there, really there.

And then his eyes flew open as metal slid through him, pain exploding in a rush of blood. And he knew what he had felt before this was not pain, not compared to this. And he drank in the sight of her even as she slid the blade deeper into his stomach. And he did not question her because he knew he deserved it all.

* * * * * * *

Buffy entered the mansion at a run, banging the door open so hard it slammed against the wall. Giles jumped in his seat as the sound brought Angel out of the dream he was having. The Watcher had found it mesmerizing, watching the emotions play across Angel's face while he slept, his muscles jerking in reaction.

"Buffy?" he said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I just had this feeling," Buffy said, rubbing anxiously at her arms. Angel looked a bit worse for the wear. She wondered how bad the dream had been to affect him that way. He was sitting with his arms wrapped around his legs, whimpering softly to himself, rocking back and forth. But he did not seem to be in danger. "I can't explain it, but I was so SURE something was happening here. Or going to happen."

"It's been quiet," Giles said doubtfully. "He fell asleep, and I read. I haven't seen any hint of the Hound."

"I know I'm probably just being paranoid," Buffy said, unsure of what to do with herself now that she was here, and nothing was happening. "But it's like I'm being eaten alive. I can feel danger coming. It's like something's stalking me, and it's getting ready to pounce. My hair is standing on end."

"I'm not doubting your instincts, Buffy," Giles said hesitantly. "But honestly, there doesn't seem to be anything happening here, and you can't afford to be caught skipping your classes.

"I know," Buffy agreed. "I just, I couldn't concentrate at all and I have all this nervous energy." She looked again at Angel, and stopped talking. He was still rocking slightly, but his head was lifted. His nostrils flared as he tested the air for a scent, then he growled sharply, pulled desperately at his chains twice, and then backed up against the wall. His growling grew louder, and he ducked his head down as if trying to hide.

"What is he doing?" Giles asked.

"I'm not sure, but last time the BloodHound came, Angel freaked out like he could sense the thing coming. He seems more scared this time though," she said with a grimace. "This is not cool."

"Could it be something else that's scaring him?" Giles asked.

"Of course it could, Giles," Buffy said in annoyance. "I'm not a mind reader, I'm just telling you that this is sort of what happened before. And I've been having this feeling. And I think we'd pretty much better brace for impact here."

"Ah, I see," Giles confirmed, reaching into his bag and pulling out a loaded crossbow. "Fully braced."

"You know that's not going to work," Buffy said, raising an eyebrow.

"It can't hurt," Giles responded, raising his own.

"Okay, just try not to shoot me or Angel with the thing by accident," Buffy said with a grin.

"Right, thanks for the advice," Giles said sarcastically. He stood behind his chair, ready to use it to provide at least minimal cover. Angel moved about in agitation, never straying from the cover of the wall, lifting his head to catch the scent, then attempting to hide again. Buffy approached him, staying out of the range of his chain, but close enough that she could reach him quickly if she needed to protect him. She raised her fists and took a fighting stance, muscles taut. They waited.


	9. Buried Alive: Part Nine

**Buried Alive**

**Part Nine**

The air in front of Angel shimmered slightly, as if giving off heat waves, then the BloodHound filled what had been empty space. He stood before the vampire, his leather clad figure towering above the others in the room. Buffy swallowed. She had forgotten just how big he was. He moved toward Angel immediately, seeking to grab the vampire before the humans could react. Angel cowered back, snapping hesitantly at the Hound when he drew nearer.

Buffy leapt toward the giant man and heard the whir of the crossbow bolt as it passed near her ear and sunk into the Hound's back. He ignored the wooden shaft and closed his hand around Angel's wrist. Angel pulled at the caught wrist, rolling his eyes in fear, but was unable to loose himself.

Buffy flew into the BloodHound feet first, sending him staggering forward from pure momentum. He let go of Angel's wrist but regained his balance quickly and turned to face the tiny blonde Slayer.

"Do not involve yourself," he warned, showing her empty hands.

"I'm involved," Buffy said grimly. "I know it's a hassle for you, but I don't have a choice in the matter."

"Nor do I," the man said. Buffy thought she could hear a note of regret in his voice and wished briefly that she didn't have to fight him. There were so few demons out there who weren't evil. But then he reached toward Angel again, and it no longer mattered who or what he was. She kicked his hand away from the vampire, saw her blow had little effect, and punched him in the face. A shock of pain exploded through the bones of her hand, but he barely flinched.

She ignored the pain and twisted around his body so she was behind him. Remembering her moderate success with his hair the last time, she grabbed for it and pulled his head back. His huge hands reached behind him and enveloped her wrists. Jerking upwards, he flung her over his head. She braced herself, rolling to her feet as she landed. Pain surged through her knee, but she was still mobile. She heard a muffled thunk as a crossbow bolt sunk into his chest. It had as little effect as the first, which still protruded from the broad, muscular surface of his back.

She noticed that Angel's face had turned at some point after she had attacked the Hound. Maybe sometime during her flight over the man's head. Oddly, the vampire no longer seemed afraid. Rage had taken over; he growled and snarled, clawing and snapping, completely focused on freeing himself to run to her. He jerked against his chains so hard she was afraid he would hurt himself. Blood stained his fabric that wrapped his wrists, but he seemed impervious to any pain he was inflicting on himself. The chains held fast, but Buffy thought she saw the ring in the wall shift a bit. She dismissed it as her imagination when the Hound moved closer to her, and she prepared for another attack. Angel's feet kicked out at the Hound, but his blow barely landed. It served only to drive him to a feverish new high of fury. Whirling into motion, he attacked again, lashing out with chained hands.

The larger man came within his circle of grasp, and Angel bit the Hound as he attempted to grab the vampire again. His fangs tore a hunk of the larger man's flesh from his arm. Immediately, he spat to the side and attempted to attack again. Buffy could clearly see that the Hound's flesh was ravaged by the teeth, hanging in strips; but no blood dripped from the wound. She wondered desperately if anything could cause a BloodHound pain. Then her eyes fell on the large silver knife hanging from a loop on his black belt. The shining metal winked at her, and she flew at the Hound. Blocking the fist he threw at her head, she faked a punch at his chest, snatched the knife from his belt, and spun beneath his huge arm. Her arm felt like it had gone numb where she had blocked his blow, but she gripped the knife tightly in her other hand.

"Please work," she muttered. She plunged the knife with all her strength into his heart through the leather vest stretched over his back. It sunk in up to the hilt, leaving him with three weapons sticking out of his body. The BloodHound turned to face her, his eyes slightly wide. Buffy felt a surge of hope, then his hand smashed into her temple. She flew several feet to the side, her vision dimming as she landed against the stone floor. He plucked the knife from his back and returned it to the loop on his belt. Buffy shook her head slightly, fighting the grey which encroached on her vision and the nausea rising in her stomach. She inched forward toward him, knowing she would never be able to reach him in time to stop him. And that even if she did, she had no way to beat him.

She watched through blurry vision as Giles ran at the Hound with a shout, stake in hand, while Angel snarled and jerked against his chains like a man possessed. The Hound brushed Giles aside with barely a flick of his wrist, and the Watcher fell unconscious. Buffy tried to scream, but she could not find the breath. She managed to pull herself to her feet and staggered a step toward the Hound.

He turned from Angel to look at her. She took another step and then another, gaining speed as she went. She shivered violently as his white eyes bore into her while unconsciousness threatened at the edges of her vision. She thought for a moment that her vision was worsening as everything began to shimmer slightly. Then she was standing where the Hound had been a moment before, and he was gone. Her mind briefly struggled to understand why, then everything went black and she crumpled. Angel's arms catching her were the last things she felt before awareness faded completely.

* * * * * * * *

Buffy woke to the sensation of Angel nuzzling her face with his own. He pushed anxiously at her with his head, stroking and pawing at the side of her face with gentle fingers.

"Wake," he whispered roughly before a plaintive whimper escaped his lips. She opened her eyes in surprise as he drew his tongue along the side of her cheek. Buffy stirred weakly, but his grip on her tightened. Crushing her against his chest, he made joyful cooing noises while his hands ran over her body reassuring himself that she was real. When he licked her again, she managed to sit up and push him away. He stuck his head under her upraised arm, trying to reach her; and she pushed him away again. But her hand lingered in his hair a moment longer than necessary before she scuttled out of his reach.

Her muddled gaze fell on the still unconscious Giles, and she hurriedly crawled to him. Kneeling beside his body, she grabbed his hand. She felt for a pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when there was one. Gently she shook her Watcher, calling his name until he slowly opened his eyes.

"Thank God," she whispered. He attempted to smile at her, wincing as pain began to register all over his abused body. Suddenly his eyes flew wide, and his breath caught.

"Angel?" he asked.

"Still here," Buffy told him She glanced at the vampire, who was watching them intently while he continuously, but absently, pulled at his chains as though his mind were elsewhere.

"But how?" Giles asked. "Did you defeat the Hound?"

"No," Buffy said ruefully. "I was trying to attack him, and he disappeared. But believe me, it wasn't because he was afraid of me."

"I am certain this was his final warning to us, Buffy," Giles observed as he slowly sat up. "He showed us we cannot defeat him, and he is giving us one more chance to let him do his job without interference."

"I guess that flies," Buffy said. "But I think he could have taken Angel today. I mean we couldn't have stopped him." She shivered, turning her eyes to Angel again as if afraid the Hound had stolen him away in the brief moment that her attention lay elsewhere.

"True, but you said you continued to attack, despite your injuries. He must have seen that you would die before you let him take Angel. He would have had to kill you, not just beat you."

"He's giving me one more chance to back down on my own, so he doesn't have to kill an innocent," Buffy agreed, indirectly confirming Giles' assessment that she would die before losing Angel again. The Watcher smiled without joy at her affirmation of his grim assumption, then winced and clutched at his aching head.

"I suppose we won't be backing down," he said matter-of-factly.

"I won't be," Buffy said. "You guys are another matter." She gently probed the bruise rising on the Watcher's face. "You didn't have to fling yourself at the Hound like that, you know. Especially to save a guy you hate."

"I couldn't just let him be taken," Giles said sheepishly. "It was rather foolish of me, I suppose."

"You say foolish, I say incredibly brave. Tomato, tomahto. Whatever." She smiled at him, and he smiled back. "This doesn't seem too bad," she said about the bruise. "But I don't know if you have a concussion or not. Maybe you should get it checked out."

"I'll be fine," Giles assured her. "What about yourself?" Buffy stood up cautiously, testing the knee she had hurt earlier.

"The knee's a little weak," she said, grimacing as dull pain shot through her leg when she put too much weight on it. "But I think if you tape it up, I'll be okay."

"But you are weakened," Giles said with a sigh. "And when the Hound comes again, which could be at any time now, he will not hold back. He has given us the final warning, and he will kill you the next time."

"And I can't even handle him when he IS holding back. And now I'm not at full strength," Buffy added. "I know. But there's no way out of it. I have to TRY to stop him. Even if I know I can't."

"I know," Giles said miserably.

"I might as well just camp out here," Buffy said finally. "We don't know when the next attack will come. But it probably won't be long. I think he's getting impatient."

"We can camp with you," Giles offered. "You'll need all the help you can get. And I can continue my search for the Hound's weaknesses here, though I have yet to find any hint of one."

"I don't think he has any," Buffy said sourly. "And I don't want you guys getting killed."

"We feel the same way about you," Giles said dryly. "And to be honest, you can't stop us from staying if we want to." Buffy's lower lip jutted into a stubborn pout, but after a moment of thought she nodded her head.

"Fine. But you can't speak for the others. They have to decide themselves. And if they do want to stay, you guys will stay in shifts. I don't want everyone sitting here in a big group like lambs to a slaughter if the BloodHound goes ballistic. Numbers don't really matter since the guy is practically invulnerable. And I want everyone to be able to get some rest and all that if he does take a while in getting here. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Giles said. "I'll take the first shift. The others are coming by after school, and they can decide what they want to do then. Faith may come by sooner, depending on what she's up to, which of course she did not tell me."

"Typical," Buffy said with a cheeky grin. "Here I am about to get myself killed over a vampire, and I'm still the model Slayer comparatively."

"You will not die," Giles said roughly. "I will not allow it."

"Thanks for the sentiment, Giles," Buffy said flatly. "But we both know how this is going to end." She shrugged. Her eyes met Angel's, her attention drawn by the painful, protesting whine that scraped from his throat. "This is how it has to be." Giles clutched her arm tightly, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh. He shook her slightly, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"You are not giving up," Giles said softly, his voice commanding. "This is not over. And I will not sit by and listen to you refer to your own death as if it would mean nothing. Your life may not mean anything to you, but it means a great deal to a great many other people, including myself. And I refuse to give up on you or allow you to give up on yourself." He shook her again, attempting to force his words into her soul.

"Thank you, Giles," she said softly. "But you don't need to tell me this. I don't want to die. For God's sake, it scares me so much I can hardly think." She turned her gaze on Angel, reminding herself of her reason for doing this, drawing strength from the reminder of him. "But this is who I am. You and I both know it. This is what I do."

"Just don't give up," Giles begged.

"I won't," she promised gently. He released her arm and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. The thought that he might lose her filled his stomach with icy dread which shook him to the core. He lived with that fear every time he sent her out into battle. But this time the fear touched him like it had only once before. Like the first time he had translated the prophecy in the Codex foretelling her death, he felt immobilized by fear so deep and immediate it made everything else pale by comparison. As they had then, they were facing her assured death. But they had cheated death that time, and he prayed they would cheat death again. He loved her too much to consider any other possibility.


	10. Buried Alive: Part Ten

**Buried Alive**

**Part Ten**

Buffy removed the ice pack from her knee and cautiously stood up. She gingerly placed her full weight on her bad leg and breathed a sigh of relief when she felt only a brief twinge of pain. She moved the ice pack to her temple, but the bruise there had already faded. Tossing the pack aside, she kicked out to the side a few times, hoping the movement would calm her as well as reassure her that she was capable of fighting.

She admitted to herself that while she was anxious, she was not as nervous as she should have been facing her own death. Whether it was because she had been through so much that nothing could touch her the same way again, or whether it was simply because the fact of her own death seemed unreal, she didn't know. The BloodHound and the danger he presented added a tinge of desperation to everything she did, every movement she made. But it seemed less immediate than the vampire who kept her company in the old mansion.

She walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside, peering out into the night. Willow had gone to tell Xander it was time for his shift. He was the next in a series of Slayerettes who had been staying with her all day. Giles had gone back to the library to continue his research after Faith appeared. And the other Slayer had gone on patrol as soon as Willow and Xander showed up with an ice pack, food for Buffy, and a cup of blood for Angel, all sent by the Watcher. Unfortunately, Giles had no new information to send with them. After a brief discussion, Willow had volunteered for the first shift. A few hours later it had taken a lot of convincing to make her leave Buffy alone in the mansion even for the short time it would take her to find Xander and send him over.

Instead of sharing Willow's nervousness at leaving her alone, Buffy felt a vague sense of relief. As much as she appreciated the willingness of the others to help, she knew they would be useless when the fight began. Their presence was a heroic, but ultimately impractical, gesture. Buffy preferred being alone to worrying about their safety.

She closed the curtain when she was sure Xander wasn't currently nearing the house and bit her lip. She turned slowly around and crossed the room to Angel. Standing just outside his reach, she admitted to herself that her concern for the others wasn't the only reason she preferred being alone. She bowed her head, then raised it again.

"If I'm going to die, I might as well be honest with myself," she muttered. Angel cocked his head, but continued to jerk against his chains. He had been struggling to free himself for hours, as if he knew what was coming. His determination was almost frightening. His wrists looked horrible, the makeshift bandages she had put on them fallen away, and the wrists themselves bruised and bloody, the skin torn and abused. But he didn't seem to feel the pain, and Buffy found she was so used to the constant tug, relax, tug again, that she barely even noticed it.

She extended a hand, stepping closer to the man before her. Her fingertips stretched, tracing over his collarbone, feeling the muscles flex under his skin as he strained toward her.

"I've been kidding myself," she said quietly. "I've been pretending I didn't tell you I loved you yesterday. I've been pretending my body doesn't demand to be near you every time I'm around you. I've told myself that just because you're back doesn't mean I can't see other people." She smiled bitterly. "I've been trying to convince myself that I'm helping you because you're my responsibility." She moved her hand over his chest, then up his neck. She twined her hand in the hair on the back of his head, and for the first time in hours he stopped moving, his eyes meeting hers. "I still love you," she said. "Not as a friend or a brother. As a lover. I can't stop. I won't ever." He shoved his head forward, lifting his hands, and she stepped into the circle of his arms. "And I don't think there's any point in pretending right now. I just want to spend the last moments as we wait together." She nestled her head against his chest, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

"Buffy," he whispered into her hair. She smiled again, tracing his backbone with her fingers. He shivered, then reached down to lift her face to him. He bent his head, and she strained upwards until their lips met briefly for one moment of contact. His brow furrowed, and he tightened his arms around her as he searched for something locked deep inside his mind. She rose up on her tiptoes, interrupting his thought process with another kiss. He gently caught her lower lip with his teeth, and she deepened the kiss, slipping her tongue inside his mouth. He shuddered again when they parted. "Mate," he growled, then continued in a whisper. "Love you."

Her face twisted as she tried not to cry, then his lips captured hers; and his hands roamed her back, drawing her ever closer as if he could make them one person. Somehow, she didn't want to cry anymore. And she wasn't afraid of anything.

Abruptly Angel growled, his head snapping up, his eyes glittering yellow. Buffy twisted in his arms, then stumbled back when he released her and began to pull on his chains again. She rolled her head to loosen her muscles, then took a fighting stance, feeling a surge of gratitude that the others wouldn't be caught in the crossfire. Almost before she noticed the shimmer in the air off to her side, the Hound appeared.

He held the wicked blade of his knife naked in his hand, and Buffy knew he would use it on her with no hesitation. She gritted her teeth and moved to place herself between him and the vampire.

He came at her, moving faster than she would have guessed possible for a man of his size. The knife flashed toward her, and she twisted to the side, barely avoiding it's deadly edge. As she turned, her fist flew out into his kidneys. She gasped at the burst of pain that shot through her entire arm, then dismissed it and ducked under the slash of the knife. Distracted by the weapon, she didn't dodge the punch he threw at her in time; and it slammed into her eye, knocking her to the floor.

She blinked away the blood dripping into her eye from her split eyebrow and tucked her foot under the Hound's, jerking to trip him. He staggered, and she pulled herself to her feet. While he was off balance, she swept the knife out of his hand with a roundhouse kick. The heel of his hand smashed into her chest like a sledgehammer, driving the breath from her lungs. She wondered if her ribs were broken. Taking a shallow breath, she launched a series of punches and kicks at the larger man. He only blocked half of them, but he seemed less hurt by the blows than she was. It was like smashing her hands and feet against a giant chunk of iron. He blocked a punch, grabbing Buffy's fist, and held her trapped while he landed a powerful blow to her head. She used all her strength to pull her hand from his grasp, and nearly fell down as she was released.

She tried to kick him in the chest, but she was weakening and he easily caught her foot in his grasp, then used the leverage to throw her several feet away from him. She landed hard on the floor, cracking the back of her head against the stones; and before she could rise to her feet he was beside her. He knelt on top of her, immobilizing her with his knee, then drew back his fist. Having felt his strength during the fight, Buffy knew he could kill her with the blow he was preparing to deliver. She tried to throw him off her body, but was pinned too completely to free herself. He drove his fist toward her, and she threw up her hands to block the punch. He was too strong to stop, but her hands diverted the killing blow enough that it only grazed the side of her face. She heard the sharp crack of the stone breaking next to her head, and she gritted her teeth, pulling the Hound's arm in an attempt to throw him off balance. He pulled back, unmoved, and she quickly released the arm, bracing for the next blow.

She turned her head briefly, wanting one more glimpse of the man she was sacrificing everything for. She wanted him to be the last thing she saw. Her gaze fell on him, and she smiled a little at the sight of him, no matter what the circumstances. He lunged against his chains, his face fully vamped, his mouth agape; and her eyes flew wide as his momentum caused him to sprawl on the floor when the ring that held his chains flew violently free of the wall. His chains swung forward, clanking against the stones, and he scrambled to his feet.

Buffy turned her eyes back to the BloodHound in time to see that he had scooped his knife from the floor and was driving it toward her chest. She brought up her hands, but knew she was too late to stop the final blow. Time stretched, slowing to allow her to watch her death approach. She closed her eyes, then she opened them again, wanting at least to watch the inevitable if she could not stop it.

Then Angel's body covered hers, and the knife protruded from his back, blood streaming from the wound onto his flesh and hers. She blinked, shifting under the weight, panicked hands brushing at the blood and trying to reach the knife's hilt. She screamed in anguish, but Angel did not move. She screamed again, turning her eyes to the BloodHound. His eyes gleamed white as they met hers, and she knew that he was seeing both her and Angel despite the blindness. She was sure he could SEE the bright red of the blood that clung to her skin and her clothes, that he could see the pain too deep for tears in her eyes. For one instant she was sure he could see it all.

And then he spoke softly.

"I do not hunt this one." Buffy stared, her brain unable to make any sense of the phrase. Then her eyes were filled with nothing but the brightest of whites, and she thought she had fainted or that the Hound had struck her blind. As suddenly as it had come, the light was gone, and the Hound was gone, and the knife was gone; and she was alone with Angel.

She lay still under his body, finding comfort in its weight though he still had not moved. She felt the warmth of tears as they streamed from her eyes to her hair, dropping helplessly into the golden strands, mingling with the dirt that layered the floor. Her hands stroked Angel's arms unceasingly, rubbing and touching the cool skin, memorizing the texture of the tissue and the grit and the stickiness of the blood.

And then his arm shifted under her hand, and she choked on a scream. Quickly, she scrabbled out from underneath the vampire and knelt beside him, holding her hand to the wound in his back. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but she wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. There was so much blood covering his skin, her hand, the stones beneath him. Had she imagined his movement? She whimpered, using one hand to cover his wound and the other to run through his hair over and over.

His eye popped open.

Her wide-eyed gaze met his, and as they met she felt she was seeing him for the first time. Knowing him as she never had before, despite everything they had been through. His dark eyed stare tore at her and soothed her at once. And she saw in his eye a glimmer of the man she loved, her Angel. His lips curled back from his teeth nervously, and his chains clanked when he shifted his body. But behind that, behind the dirt and blood, she saw understanding.

"Lover," he whispered. His voice weak, barely above a whisper. "Hurt." She swallowed, her mind traveling immediately to the still open wound on his back.

"I'll get Giles to help fix it," she promised, somehow unable to tear her gaze from his. Unable to study the seriousness of the wound in depth as her brain urged her to do. He shook his head slightly, negatively, his brow furrowing.

"Not me," he denied. "Slayer. Hurt." She raised her eyebrow, in confusion. "My," he hesitated, his face intent as he searched for the word he needed. "Fault," he finished, in a voice still unused to language. She began to understand and shook her head helplessly.

"No, it wasn't your fault," she said, and reached out to stroke the side of his head. He shifted again, turning so he was on his side, and she scooted closer, pulling his head gently into her lap. Her eyes never left his, and he allowed her to move him without a sound of pain or protest. Looking up into her face, his eyes filled with tears.

"Sorry," he said uncertainly. "I'm sorry." She brushed the backs of her knuckles over the side of his face, then traced the planes of his cheekbones with her fingertips. She bent over and kissed him lightly, her lips tasting the salt of his skin, the softness of his lips.

"You don't need to apologize," she whispered. "You don't need to say anything." Her lips curved up, and she kissed his forehead. "I already know."

He reached toward her and cupped her face in his hand, which shook slightly with some excess of emotion: relief, exhaustion, pain, or simply the need to feel her skin under his fingers. He twisted a strand of her hair between his thumb and index finger, then slowly ran his hand over her head, her neck, her shoulder, her back, her arm. Her body ached with the need to touch him, but she allowed him to continue his exploration of her, his claiming of her as his own.

"My Buffy," he said, with a note of certainty in his voice as well as a hint of fear. She hesitated, unsure of what to say, if anything. He smiled at her cautiously, and she smiled back, answering him in one word.

"Yes."

Her eyes broke away from him when the door creaked open, and he reluctantly removed his hand from its resting place on her stomach. Xander peered into the room, his breath catching sharply when he saw the two of them on the floor together. He snapped his open mouth shut and hurried to them, his breath catching again when he saw the nasty wound that marred Angel's back, the blood that soaked the stones and Buffy's clothes. He dropped to his knees, his hands probing the outer edges of the wound gently.

Angel's lip curled into a snarl when the boy touched him, but he stayed still, his body trembling with the urge to attack. Xander's fingers touched a sensitive spot, and Angel growled warningly. Immediately Xander crawled backwards, away from the vampire, as he suddenly remembered the incident earlier; and he noticed that Angel had broken free of his chains. Buffy placed her hand gently over Angel's heart, and he stayed where he was, not even looking at Xander to learn his position.

"What happened, Buff?" Xander asked quietly, when he saw Angel was remaining docile.

"He saved my life," she said, her hand moving restlessly over the vampire's chest.

"And the Hound?"

"Gone," she said softly. "I think for good."

* * * * * *

Xander called Willow and Giles at the library and they promised to come over immediately. While they waited, Buffy used some material Xander found in the next room to bind Angel's wound. She unlocked the manacles from Angel's wrists, although Xander disagreed with that decision. After she finished with Angel, the boy insisted on helping her clean the deep cut that marked her eyebrow. Angel growled unhappily at the sight of Xander blotting at Buffy's face with the cloth. Despite his obvious displeasure, he continued to lie on the floor, unmoving.

As soon as Xander had finished cleaning her wound, Buffy pulled herself back over to Angel and sat next to him. Her fingers constantly played over his skin, and his eyes never left his face.

When Giles and Willow pushed the door open and hurried into the room, Xander had to call Buffy's name to draw her attention away from the vampire lying beside her. She lifted her head and smiled tiredly at the two newcomers. Angel shifted his head to observe the conversation.

His eyes darkened when he saw the Watcher, and he whispered a word to himself, too quietly for anyone but Buffy to hear.

"Giles."

Buffy brought his hand to her mouth and kissed it in response, but conveyed no other sign of having heard him speak.

"Xander said the Hound is gone?" Giles said immediately, a note of doubt in his voice.

Buffy nodded. "He came, and almost killed me; but Angel saved my life. He threw himself in front of the knife." She traced the curve of his arm with her hand, then slipped her hand into his. He held it tightly, twining his fingers with hers.

"Are you sure the Hound isn't coming back?" Willow asked.

"He said something about Angel not being the one he hunted," Buffy offered. "And he could have taken Angel or killed me, or both. But he just left instead."

"I believe he will not return," Giles agreed. "Perhaps Angel's selfless act caused the Hound to believe that he did not belong in Hell." Buffy raised her eyebrows, studying her Watcher's face. "Perhaps it convinced us all," he finished softly.

Xander opened his mouth, then looked at Angel sprawled on the floor, clutching Buffy's hand, and closed it. Finally he opened it again. "And he's been a lot calmer this time than when we saw him before," he said. Willow smiled at him, grabbed his hand and squeezed it encouragingly.

"He does seem to be improving," Giles agreed. "I think the chains have become unnecessary."

"And he's speaking a little more," Buffy added. "I think he's starting to recognize all of us."

"He may indeed recover, Buffy," Giles said. "As much as one can recover from the sort of trauma he has experienced. It seemed that Hell had driven all sense of who he was from him. Perhaps he forgot in order to protect himself from the pain." He gazed at the vampire holding so tightly to the small hand of the Slayer and smiled briefly. "But I believe he has found a reason to change, and that he has the desire to become himself again, to face the past...if he can."

"He can," Buffy said softly. "I know it." And holding Angel's hand in her own, seeing the faint light of understanding in her eyes, she believed her own words fully.


	11. Buried Alive: Part Eleven

**Buried Alive**

**Part Eleven: Epilogue**

He blinked, trying to get his bearings. There was something he needed to remember, something he should have known. But he couldn't wrap his mind around it. In fact he couldn't seem to remember anything, who he was, how he had come here; it was all a blur. It was as if he were underwater, struggling sluggishly through the murk. He shook his head slowly, bringing his hand up to massage his temple. He felt like he was moving in slow-motion, but an urgency filled him. There was something important happening, or going to happen. Something pressing and immediate and achingly necessary for him to remember. He was sure of that much.

The room came into focus for the first time as he studied it in hopes of gaining some clue to his memory. He knew it was a room. If he were to push himself to describe it, he would have to admit that it didn't _look_ like a room. It was more like the suggestion of a room. There was a tiled floor, Angel realized as the cold, smooth feel of it on his bare feet registered. There was a ceiling, a high, arching ceiling. Somehow he knew that part without having looked up. There were some sort of beams in the corners of the room which he assumed were keeping the ceiling in place. But there were no walls, no doors. Everything was open, wide open. But he was _sure_ it was a room. He turned slowly, then looked down at his bare feet. He realized with odd disconnection that he was naked. He wondered why it didn't make him more uncomfortable.

He forgot about his nakedness as he became aware of a familiar scent, sweet and innocent and clean as the rain. A hand touched his shoulder. It was a touch he knew, a touch branded into his mind. If he could remember nothing else, he would never forget her. Buffy. He knew it before he turned to face her. Her nearness prickled down his spine, making him shiver.

He felt some of his confusion wash away, the urgency quieting as his gaze met hers. She smiled at him, a little sadness in her eyes.

"Buffy?" he said softly, hesitating. She only looked at him, smiling that same sad little smile. "Buffy," he said more firmly. He pulled her into his arms, assuring himself that she was real. His arms tightened around her delicate frame, as if he could make her safe, as if he could keep her there forever. She ran her small hand over his back, nuzzling her head against his chest. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her in his embrace. It felt like they had been apart for years, but it was familiar too. He kissed her golden hair, and she drew back.

He watched her, waiting, trusting, knowing she would explain what was going on. Gently, she traced his jawbone with the tips of her fingers.

"Who am I?" he finally asked.

"Are you ready to know?" she responded, idly brushing her lips over his chest. He paused, considering, trying to make his mind work faster, push through the sludge that weighed him down. Her question raised doubt in him, as well as returning the urgency of needing to know. He knew without understanding, that the memories would hold pain of the deepest nature. Yet he felt the tug of necessity, and part of him screamed for the knowledge. But would it complete him, make him whole again? Or would it break him utterly?

He stared into Buffy's hair, and closed his eyes briefly, savoring the feel of his body touching hers. He felt as if his skin became a mass of nerves, electrified by her touch; and he allowed the sensation to take over, determined to hang on to that memory if all else was swept away. Then he opened his eyes.

"I'm ready," he said firmly. She raised her head, her eyes meeting his for the first time. He swallowed convulsively as those eyes, their shade of color somewhere between green and blue, met his own. They were the most beautiful things he had ever seen, and the most painful. He froze, unable to shift his gaze, his muscles suddenly wooden. And like a wave it crashed over him. All of it. The faces of his friends swam before him, their expressions wracked by grief he had caused. Blood, death, love, love betrayed, and love again played out in his mind as the gaps were forcibly removed. He screamed, his throat ripped by the sound as it fell from his lips, raw and bloody.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice almost harsh in its insistence.

"Angel," he whispered, with the mangled remains of his voice. His whisper both a confirmation of who he was, and an attempt to deny that person.

Then his muscles relaxed, and he crumpled to the floor, curling in on himself. He cried silently, unable to open his eyes, unable to face the truth of who he was, what he had done. And unable to escape it as visions of his actions hid behind his closed eyelids.

Her fingertips grazed his cheek, then his neck, and he found the courage to peek out through half closed eyelids. She knelt beside him, deigning to touch him though he considered himself untouchable. Angel shuddered back, scrambling away from her on all fours, unwilling to let her soil herself with the touch of him; though he craved the comfort of her skin.

She refused to let him pull away, closing in on him again. And then her arms were around him, and her hands circled his waist.

"No," he protested.

"Yes," she answered, and in her voice he heard the voices of others. People like Giles, and Willow, and Xander. People he had no right to even ask for forgiveness.

Then she stood up, and he put his arms around her legs, grasping her close, holding her like a lifeline. She lifted his face to hers, forcing him to confront her.

"I forgive you," she said simply, and in those three words he found the strength to stand.

* * * * * * *

Buffy looked up in relief as Angel's eyes slowly opened. It had been torture for her to watch him thrash and squirm while dreaming. He had screamed at one point, in a voice so full of pain, she had almost run over to wake him up. But something told her not to interrupt, so she had remained where she was.

As soon as he adjusted to the idea of being awake, his eyes turned to her. And she found herself frozen by his gaze, by the pain and sorrow that filled those dark eyes with shadows, and by the love that almost overwhelmed the pain.

She extended a hand to him, and he crawled over to join her where she sat on the floor, curling up beside her. Her hand gently stoked his head, and he buried his face in her lap, allowing her to comfort him.

The moments stretched into hours, but they remained where they were until the others interrupted the quiet companionship from which they both drew comfort, in which they both found healing. As she touched him, Buffy knew the man she held was truly her Angel. Although he had been hurt and dark wildness continued to clutch him, together they would be strong enough to make him whole.

the end


End file.
